Last Day in London

Tuesday, 5 June

Twenty days on, and suddenly it is our last full day in London. “Suddenly” is a relative term, of course, because it seems like a very, very long time since we left home. Each day has been long and full (in a good way), and yet so many things have been left undone. Some by choice, of course—there is no way you can see and do everything in one trip, and I consciously omitted any number of potential sites and activities, like St. Paul’s Cathedral (was there last year), the Tower of London (too long lines and too many tourists), and countless museums and galleries (someday I will go back to the Victoria and Albert Museum, really—maybe even the Tate Gallery).

Other destinations were ruled out by lack of time or opportunity, like Kensington Gardens and the Orangery (where we went, but the Orangery closed early that day and I decided to spare my parents the exertion of spending too much time walking in Kensington Gardens). I didn’t go to the theatre at all, and didn’t really make an effort to, other than a couple of occasions where I thought about trying to get theatre tickets, but ultimately discarded the idea. I saw in the newspaper’s theatre listings that Equus with Daniel Radcliffe still had “a few good seats available” and definitely contemplated trying to get a ticket!

(I also read a newspaper review of King Lear at Stratford, which stated that actor Ian McKellen brings “depth, openness and emotional, spiritual and, at times, literal nakedness to the title role”—apparently nudity is a frequent element in serious British theatre. I think, however, I’d rather see Daniel Radcliffe.) (Though, of course, he’s no Hugh Grant. Just thought I’d add that.) (And he's not even going to be 18 until July. Okay, that's creepy. Moving on.)

I still had a moderately long list of things I wanted to accomplish on this final day in London, ending with a final trip to Harrods to pick up a VAT refund form. (Harrods was at the end of the day since they are open until 8 p.m.) I plotted out my itinerary by location, so I could move from one stop to the next.

I began the day with a final run in Regent’s Park. I wanted to make this last trip the ultimate Regent’s Park run—one loop around the Outer Circle, one loop around the Inner Circle, and finally a loop through the interior of Queen Mary’s Gardens and rose garden. The Outer Circle is the road (with sidewalk) that circles the outside of Regent’s Park. I have tried again and again to ascertain its distance but can’t find any firm information on the internet—strangely enough, because you’d think that was the kind of thing someone would be quick to determine. I estimate that it’s about 2½ miles, based on how long it takes me to run around. (After writing this I found something that says it is 4.3 km, which converts to 2.67 miles, so I was pretty close in my estimate! I am good!) This was the first time I’ve run all the way around the Outer Circle on the outside of Regent’s Park; usually I prefer to run on the inside of the park on the paths that follow the outside edge of the park. Once I completed the rotation and returned to St. Andrew’s Gate, I ran up the Broad Walk to the Inside Circle and took my loop around the inner road. Finally, I made my final visit to the Rose Garden and Queen Mary’s Gardens, passing through the rose gardens and other lavishly planted beds and borders. Just before I turned back into Chester Road, I came across a part of the Rose Garden that I had not seen before—an English Rose border, planted entirely with David Austin English Roses! I regretted not having my camera there to take a picture.

I have said before, the Rose Garden at Regent’s Park is probably the most beautiful rose garden I have ever seen, and I was happy to run through it day after day. Regent’s Park itself has become one of my favorite places, certainly my favorite place to run, offering many more paths and possible courses than I have yet to explore, despite my daily visits (when I tend to run the same routes every day anyway). I am sure I could run there every day for a year and never get bored. (Regent’s Park also has public restrooms that are open early in the morning, which makes it even more desirable as a running course.) Other people in the park are scarce early in the morning—I usually see a few runners and walkers, several persons with cameras taking pictures, and my favorites, a group of older Asian ladies practicing tai chi. I am not alone in loving Regent's Park, of course, in fact, Regent's Park and the adjacent Primrose Hill are even mentioned in numerous musical pieces and songs—something for me to explore for my ipod in future, perhaps.

Saying a sad farewell to the glorious roses, I reluctantly left Regent’s Park to return to the hotel for breakfast and the remainder of my day. After eating breakfast, I set forth on my day’s agenda.

First stop, the the National Gallery which I reached by way of Piccadilly Circus tube, walking down Haymarket and then turning left into Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery. It took me a moment to notice the change in the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square; the busy road which has always run between the National Gallery and Trafalgar Square has been closed and turned into part of the pedestrian plaza. I don’t remember whether that road was open or closed last year, but I suspect I would remember if it had been closed! I approve of this change. It adds a lot to both the appearance and ambience of the National Gallery.

I arrived at the National Gallery at 9:45, fifteen minutes before it opens. I took this time to perch on a ledge, taking pictures and watching passersby.

My objective at the National Gallery was to pick up a Van Gogh print and miniature chairs by request for Pam. The National Gallery is an amazing building with a breathtaking interior, and I didn’t need to visit the exhibits to enjoy the ambience of the National Gallery. While waiting for the print to be ready, I contemplated going into a few of the exhibit rooms, but rather than make that overwhelming choice, I walked down to the Waterstone’s bookstore on the opposite side of Trafalgar Square to look for some books I had been asked to find. About half an hour later I went back and collected the finished print in the shop of the Sainsbury Wing. The National Gallery has a scheme where you can purchase digital prints of many of their paintings. These prints are meant to be much better quality than a traditional poster, as they are digital reproductions of the original artwork.

After my final departure from the National Gallery, I circled around Trafalgar Square to head down Whitehall toward Westminster. Walking down Whitehall, you can see Big Ben ahead; you also pass the Horse Guards Parade, numerous government offices, and Downing Street on your right. I was going to Westminster to find the National Trust shop that the clerk in the Bath shop said was located in Westminster in London. I had some idea that it would just pop up and be easy to find, probably in Whitehall or in Bridge Street across from the Houses of Parliament, where there are a number of other shops.

But it did not appear so easily. I went into the Parliament Bookshop and asked the clerk if he knew where the National Trust shop was; despite trying to find it on the National Trust website on the internet, he could not help me. I walked past the Houses of Parliament and toward Westminster Abbey, going into the Westminster Abbey shop to try for assistance there as well. They sent me toward the small English Heritage shop located in the Jewel Tower adjacent to the Houses of Parliament. I spent a little bit of time walking about the grounds of Westminster Abbey, crossing Victoria Street to get a picture; this was the most time I had spent around Westminster Abbey since I was in college!

After the English Heritage shop provided no information (although they did encourage me to join English Heritage, to gain free admission to a whole slew of historic houses and properties different from those owned by National Trust—including Stonehenge, although I believe National Trust members get free admission to Stonehenge also), I finally conceded that I was not going to find this shop just by walking around. In fact, I seriously questioned whether it existed at all!

Despite my frustration, I did take this opportunity to admire the views of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben.

My next planned destinations were Somerset House and the Courtauld Institute of Art, followed by a walk down Fleet Street to the Temple Church. Geographically, my plan was sound; I could walk to Somerset House either by walking down Victoria Embankment, or by returning to Trafalgar Square and then into the Strand. Temple Church would then be only a short distance further.

But I had spent more time than I had planned looking for the National Trust shop, and I reluctantly decided to eliminate Somerset House and the Temple Church in favor of returning to the hotel to look for further information in my National Trust book. Yes, it might have been helpful to look up the exact address in the book before I left in the morning! But it really did not even occur to me at the time. While I regretted eliminating cultural destinations in favor of shopping, I also realized that I would not appreciate those places if I forced myself to go to them when I really wanted to be somewhere else. I was obsessed with finding that National Trust shop!

(So, Pam, yet another effort to go to Temple Church thwarted by time and fate!)

I retraced my steps back to Trafalgar Square and then to Piccadilly to hop on the tube back to Russell Square. I also suspected that a short break at the hotel would give me more energy for the rest of the afternoon. I stopped at a bakery in Marchmont Street to bring back a bacon and cheese panini to share with my mother. This was about as close as I could get to a traditional bacon butty—and let me say, it was tasty. (It wasn’t just bacon and cheese, there was also “salad”—lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber—on it.)

Sure enough, my National Trust Handbook listed the locations of the town shops, including the London shop, located in Caxton Street in Victoria. Now, granted, Victoria is just adjacent to Westminster, but still, there was no chance I could have found this shop just by walking around. In fact, the shop is located in a historical site called the Blewcoat School, a school that was built in 1709 as a school for poor children. It was used as a school until 1926. It was used as a school until 1926. In 1954, it was purchased by the National Trust who use it as a gift shop and information centre.

After our lunch and a bit of a rest (not too much), I persuaded my mother to come with me to the National Trust shop and my next round of final errands. (She is a sucker for National Trust shops.) This time we took the tube from Euston Station on the Victoria line to Victoria Station. From there we walked up (or down) Victoria Street what I felt was a short distance but my mother possibly considered a moderately long walk.

A left turn into Buckingham Gate brought us to Caxton Street and the back of the Blewcoat School and the National Trust Shop.

We left with bag in hand. Despite my mother’s packing concerns, she could not resist the lure of the National Trust Shop! When I gave her the option of walking back to Victoria Station, or getting on the tube at St. James Park, only a couple of blocks away from us but necessitating a change of trains, she chose the St. James Park tube. Rather excitingly, our walk to the tube took us right past New Scotland Yard! Outside New Scotland Yard, we saw a man being interviewed by TV reporters, and although we did not know who it was or what he was saying, we assumed it was something important and newsworthy!




Not unlike Mark Darcy/Colin Firth being interviewed at the Royal Courts of Justice following his victory in a big civil rights trial. (Since we pay no attention to the news, we never did find out what it was all about.)

After one stop on the Circle Line, we changed trains at Victoria Station to go to Oxford Circus. Luckily it was only two stops on the Victoria Line, because at 4:30 or so the trains were starting to get rush hour crowded. We emerged from underground into Oxford Circus and turned directly into Regent’s Street, destination Liberty. Liberty of London is a large department store, historically famous for its prints and fabrics, which were also sold in PVC tote bags and gorgeous silk scarves. When the store remade its image in the last few years, they discontinued the bags and other Liberty print items, and the scarves they sell are other designer scarves rather than the classic Liberty scarves. Last year I bought a very expensive “one-off” (meaning one-of-a-kind) silk skirt made from the last of the stock of old scarves. It is hanging in my closet like a treasured piece of artwork, waiting for the right occasion to be worn.

My main reason for coming to Liberty was to try out its new tea room, conveniently located on the main floor. It is a curious amalgam of very contemporary molded plastic furniture and classic dishes and silver. The dishes are black and white transferware and the silver is slightly battered hotel silver. We unfortunately arrived at the same time as a number of other people, and though we didn’t have any problem finding a table, we did have to wait a very long time for our order to be served—and it wasn’t even right. I had ordered one high tea (full afternoon tea) and one cream tea (scones and cream). When it finally arrived all we got was the cream tea and tea for one—the other half of the order had been forgotten, or never ordered, or something. No longer interested in prolonging our stay, I just asked for one more pot of tea and forget the high tea. Later, when we got the bill, I had to have words with the waiter because they overcharged us for “splitting” the cream tea! To their credit, after I explained two or three times what the problem was, they re-rang it as the cream tea plus extra pot of tea that we actually got. Of course, we paid at least twice as much for the cream tea as we would have paid for the same thing outside of London! London is an expensive place.

My final destination in Oxford Street was John Lewis, a big department store. I had some idea of finding the “Big Tomato Company” dishes that I had so liked in Bath (I saw on the internet that they are carried by John Lewis). I did find a pretty big collection (though not all the pieces I had wanted—why oh why didn’t I try to get them in Bath?), but when I learned I would have to go to the 5th floor to get a form to have anything shipped to the U.S. (the chinaware was in the basement), my interest waned and I decided to skip it. Maybe I could find it on the internet some other time.

Dragging my mother back to Oxford Circus, we squeezed onto the now impossibly crowded tube (we had to wait for a second train, and that was still packed) for the two-stop trip to Euston Station. After dropping my mother at the hotel, I set out on my final last-day journey—to Harrods. Lucky for me, this train was not so crowded, so I was able to get a seat for the ride to Knightsbridge.

While I was paying for one last purchase, I commiserated a little about the exchange rate, and the friendly but outspoken clerk opined that we had had it good for a long time (1993 to 2004 or 2005, in my calculation), and now it’s payback! I told her she should take advantage of it and take a trip to the U.S., and she said she was going later in the year. I then headed to the export bureau to collect the paperwork for my pathetic VAT refund.

Back at Russell Square and Marchmont Street, I popped into Waitrose to check on the clotted cream I planned to buy in the morning. I grabbed a shopping basket for a few other purchases—several packets of chocolate covered digestive biscuits and some flapjack. In the cream aisle, I was disturbed to see that the clotted cream was all gone. The clerk who went to check on it for me then told me that they would not get any more until the next afternoon (by which time we would be on the plane). I was quite distraught as I left the store. I was so distraught, in fact, that I didn’t notice I was carrying a metal shopping basket filled with digestive biscuits and flapjack until I was half way to the street! After a stunned moment, I turned around and slipped back into the store, hoping that I would not be accused of shoplifting. (No one even seemed to notice.)

Purchases now paid for, I returned to the hotel, somewhat resigned to the idea that I would have to go home without clotted cream. Of course I had personally eaten enough clotted cream to satisfy several months of teas, but there were others at home hoping for cream deliveries, and I hated to disappoint!

But for the moment, I turned my mind from clotted cream to fish and chips (from one full-fat item to the next), and headed out with my mother to pick up an order for our dinner. We learned from our last experience, and this time ordered only one order of chips to share, although we did order three pieces of fish. The fish and chips were quite delicious, hot, crispy, and just greasy enough. We ate every crumb!

That left just the packing to finish. Fortified with yet another strong latte, I faced up to my bags (of shopping) and bags (to be packed). I definitely had not done that much shopping, but with the decreased carry-on allowance, I had to get more stuff into packed luggage. (I had brought along an extra duffel bag, and this would leave us with six bags to check amongst us, and then the three to carry on.)

I won’t dwell on the packing experience, though it wasn’t pretty. But being a practiced packer, I managed to wedge almost everything into the three bags I was packing (without busting any seams this year), leaving only a very few small items—including the clothes I was wearing on Tuesday—to squeeze into my parents’ bags. The bulk of my excess packing was books I had bought and travel maps and guides, plus an electronic Monopoly game only available in England, and a large number of PVC shopping/tote bags.

I had emailed to Jennifer that I didn’t think I could get clotted cream (or have any room to pack it), and she responded threatening the welfare of my cats if I did not bring back clotted cream! Feeling bad (though not particularly concerned about the cats), I managed to rearrange my suitcase to allow space for the clotted cream, if I could manage to track some down at Sainsbury’s in the morning. We had bought ice packs at a kitchen store in Bath, which the Harlingford kitchen staff had put in the freezer for me. I hated the idea of not using the ice packs (which we had a hard time finding, believe me), so that was another incentive to try to find the clotted cream!

Done packing by midnight or so, I read my book for a while then turned out the light on my last full day in London. Even without Somerset House and Temple Church, it had been a full day. When I looked at my pedometer that night it read 39,269 steps! (A mile is 2,000 to 2,500 steps.) About 13,000 of those steps came from my run that morning, and the rest had been my various excursions around London. And this was a day when I had taken the tube a lot! My mother would not be surprised to hear that her part of the afternoon probably amounted to at least 6,000 to 8,000 of those steps, and that was just in going to and from the tube and our various destinations. At least it helps a bit with the clotted cream!