The Hendaye Diaries: London

I took a week out last week to go to England for my Dad’s 90^th birthday. It was a busy work period and I wonder now why I bothered. He has no concept of time anymore. Whether it’s three months or three days – he still gives me the same smile. The blessing is that it is - as opposed to a grumble and a frown – which was such a prevalent reaction in the days before Alzheimer’s. I’m coming to think of Alzheimer’s as being a blessing as well as a curse. All the photos I have of him are of him scowling. Now for the first time he has a smile (sometimes) when he sees me (although the words ‘son’ or ‘Nicholas’ don’t actually spring to his lips).

For the last four years I have been travelling to the UK more or less every quarter - with the aim of looking after his flat and paying him a visit or two. Now the flat is sold - the need to travel to the UK is less pronounced. I’m not sure if I will be able to justify (to myself) regular visits in order to spend an hour or two over lunch - not really communicating.

In the past I have had a flat (my dad’s) to stay in (rent free). Kindly the warden - at the sheltered centre where my father’s flat was - offered me use of their (heavily subsidised) guest flat whenever I came to visit. So I booked it for this visit. Regrettably (and somewhat annoyingly) I got bounced. One of the tenants of the block had recently passed on and her relatives were coming over from Italy for the funeral. I was offered alternative accommodation (and rent free) but it was sub-standard (as in not-fit-for-purpose). The room smelt of old people (I bought three scented candles to fight that off), was overheated (no thermostat controls) and had no chair or table to sit and work from. To plug in the kettle you had to unplug the TV (or fridge). While it did have its own fridge, the kitchen was two stories below (so I was constantly up and down the stairs with my milk, and breakfast things). Oh, and there wasn’t a single knife in the kitchen, so I had to buy meals that didn’t require knives. It made me think what it must be like to live in an asylum seekers hostel- with very little control over your environment. But mustn’t grumble- fortunately I could afford to buy oven-ready meals from supermarkets- an option not available to most asylum seekers.

I did need to get away from old people for a while though. So I went up to central London and spent a day working in the Westminster Hub (as a Hub member in Brussels I get free access to other Hubs in other parts of the world). Its located in New Zealand House in Haymarket - 200 yards from Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus – two of London’s most iconic landmarks (I never realised before how close together they were). At lunchtime I took a stroll around the neighbourhood and ended up in the nearby Royal Opera Arcade- the oldest of London’s shopping arcades: Georgian, elegant and stylish.

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

It was designed by John Nash. Normally I don’t take much note of architects (people like Horta excepted) but I have visited and enjoyed his buildings before, notably Llanerchaeron near Aberaeron, where I once had the opportunity to stay overnight when it was being renovated a decade or so ago (a friend of mine was a friend of the guardian). The arcade – though a very different structure had the same feel and bought back pleasant memories.

I did have plans to go to the Pre-Raphaelite show at the Tate Britain - but my work ran over and it wasn’t a late opening day (I consoled myself that it would be on for another three and a half months and I probably would have another opportunity). I had drinks after work with a colleague and collaborator who was also working in London that day. She found us a cosy pub back street down a back street of railwaymen’s houses just behind Waterloo station. It was busy and noisy with people enjoying after work drinks: office groups, couples and old friends catching up with each other (just like us). But the street itself was like a film set: if you took away the cars and TV aerials it could have been used as set for a Dickens story – (I was told that it has been used for that purpose) – a perfectly preserved piece of Victoriana.

I do always try to do one fun excursion on my trips to England. Sometimes it can be quite humble – like a cycle trip round Richmond Park or along the river to Hampton Court. This trip I noted that the Royal Horticultural Society had a free open day at its show gardenat Wisley. Conveniently on route for the ferry at Dover. I think I’d been once before as a teenager - when I didn’t have much interest in or knowledge of gardens - the father of my girlfriend at the time was a member and had a family ticket, so we took advantage of a free day out). It was heaving –(the Brits like the Dutch like bargain) I got there at eleven but it was almost impossible to find a parking space (and surprisingly there were no staff on car park duty – on this possibly their busiest day of the year). So people were left to drive round and round in circles looking for parking places. Being free entry at least there were no queues for tickets. I had planned a four hour visit before going onto the ferry. But what had started as a promising sunny day turned quite overcast and cold and the greenhouses got very busy. I was underwhelmed – it’s a nice garden – but perhaps my expectations were too high after visiting Heligan earlier in the year. I was hoping to find some inspiration for plants for the courtyard that offer a little autumn or winter colour. I was most drawn to the range of feathery grasses they had- offering a range of yellows, greys and browns – which sets off the colours of other plants very well- but their shop turned out to be rather expensive and I decided to pass - the more since there might be a problem exploring plants into Europe and I already had a bike taking up most of the room in the back of the van. Talking of colour, I noticed how ‘few people of colour’ there were there. Given how multi-ethnic Britain is it was surprising to see that the visitors were almost overwhelmingly white (and over forty but that’s another story). Do coloured people not garden? Is it a economic or cultural thing? Or do they just not do the RHS?

So I left Wisley earlier than expected and empty handed and headed down to the docks, hoping I might catch an earlier ferry and get home earlier than anticipated. As it happened I was out of luck and had to hang around the dock for an hour and a half. I allowed myself the indulgence of a cheeseburger and sat in an almost deserted diner - that had definitely seen better days and managed to do an hours editing on a client's paper. On the crossing the winds were so strong that the captain banned access to the smoking deck (which made me glad I was on the short Dover- Calais run as opposed to the longer one to Dunkirk). Back in France and Belgium it was already dark and there was constant drizzle – making the two hour drive to Brussels much harder work than normal. Autumn’s definitely setting in. My apartment was down to 17^o so I put the heating on for the first time since May.