A Visit to Hatfield House and a Night at the National Theater

Thursday, September 18, 2025

Hatfield and London

A Visit to Hatfield House and a Night at the National Theater

Today I made a longish trek out of London to see a place I have loved and dreamed of visiting. It is Hatfield House, the happy childhood home of Queen Elizabeth I and the venue of some of the most glorious Elizabethan gardens in the country. Although I have wanted to visit this site for ages (its long distance from London had always deterred me as has the lack of company), it was prompted this time by a more recent happening. You see, I have just finished reading Phillipa Gregory’s book, ‘Virgin Ground’, which tells of the lives and achievements of John Tradescant and his son who together pioneered the design and creation of exquisite gardens during the reign of Elizabeth I. Their great patron was William Cecil, Lord Salisbury, chief advisor to the Queen and a man who was both phenomenally rich and devoted to the acquisition of new varietals of plants. Hatfield House was the first really huge commission that John Tradescant received from Lord Cecil and is a real showpiece of his achievements Hence, it was on the cards for me, more than ever on this visit. Luckily, on this occasion, I actually found company, for one of my college classmates, Michelle, retired recently and is now able to accompany me on such jaunts in London. When I told her of my plans to visit Hatfield House, she was fully game and so off we went with our plans.

I awoke at 6.00 am and blogged as usual, as I listened to the trains and the planes outside my window. It is such a lovely way to awake each morning. Wasting no time, I edited my photos of the previous day, sent them off to family and friends and then showered, dressed, joined Roz for breakfast and got on with my day. I had cinnamon and carrot cake (courtesy of Jack and Beyond and my Bottomless Cake Experience) and a small bowl of granola with yogurt with a terrific cup of decaff coffee. And with that I was off at 9.30 am.

Getting to Hatfield House:

The journey to Hatfield House was something of a production. I took the 44 to Victoria, got off at the Station and then jumped into the Tube line going north. I alighted at Finsbury Park and thought I would have to walk for ten minutes along the street to the National Rail station…but I was mistaken, the two are beautifully connected and you do not even leave the building. I found the ticket machines and having arrived there at about 10.15 am, was entitled to the Off-Peak Day Return (valid after 9.30 am) which cost me 15.70 pounds. Only I picked up just one of the tickets—believing that it was valid for both rides. I did not realize that I had left one part of it behind! In fact, I only discovered this when at the barriers trying to get out of the station.

The train I took was the 10.37 am going to Welwyn Gardens—mine was the second-last stop at Hatfield. Meanwhile, Michelle was traveling there from her home in Watford and we were texting constantly to ascertain ETA. She, in the end, reached much before me as she had taken a bus that made very steady progress to the venue. En route, I passed by Ally Pally (Alexandra Palace, which is also on the cards for me to visit sometime).

At the turnstile, I encountered a return ticket problem but it was easily solved by the clerk who suggested I speak to the ticketing agent who promptly gave me a new ticket to help me get back. Problem solved! It is for such things that I am always grateful for the West and the civilized people who run such services—especially in the UK. Not even in the US would one get the sort of courtesy and politeness from service people that one gets in the UK.

b>Touring Hatfield House:

Luckily for us, my information was wrong, Hatfield House was not a 16 minute walk from the station—in fact, its main gate, sporting a large bronze seated sculpture of Robert Arthur Talbot, Marquess of Salisbury, backed by impressive gates with the typical Tudor figures holding shields, symbols of guards, was right opposite the station.

Michelle had a coffee in the station café and then we crossed the street and were off. Poor Michelle had by then made the discovery that the House had been closed for the season only last Saturday—Bummer! This would mean that we could tour the Gardens and the Old Palace (usually not open to the public) for a reduced ticket price. Gardens for just 16 pounds (otherwise, with House, it is a steep 26!) and with the Old Palace Tour added it would be another 8 pounds. Michelle refused to let me pay, assuring me that this was entirely her treat. I made her promise that she would at least let me pay for lunch. Chatting with the ticketing clerk, we discovered that Tours of the Old Palace are given on the hour and that the Old Church opens after 2.00 pm. It was about 11.30 by the time we had arrived there and by the time we strolled along the long driveway and saw the first views of the house, it was almost 12 noon. It made sense of us to join the 12 noon tour of the Old Palace.

Touring the Old Palace:

The tour of the Old Palace was given sharply at noon by a lady calling herself Jo, short for Joanna. We were the fifth and sixth person to join it as two other couples had arrived before us. Joanna gave us a ton of information as we moved from one room to the next. Here is what I remember:

Hatfield House was built in the early 1500s and was used by King Henry VIII as a nursery for his children—Mary (Tudor), Elizabeth and later Edward. It is the place in which Edward was educated in keeping with his destiny to become future King of England and since Elizabeth was in the place too, she was fortunate to also receive an education at the same time, by private tutors—the best in the land, of course. Mary seems to have been out of the picture—but she was older by a few years. The tutors waxed lyrical about the intellectual capacity of both children but Elizabeth was particularly bright and her tutor is reported to have said that “she dazzled”. In the process, she learned history, languages (she could speak five) and math and excelled at them all.

After her father Henry VIII died and her sister, the staunchly Catholic Mary (also known as Bloody Mary) came to the throne, she was afraid that her sister Elizabeth would plot and plan to overthrow her and bring Protestantism back to the land. Hence, during Mary’s reign, Elizabeth was placed under virtual house arrest at Hatfield House in this building, referred to as the Old Palace. Mary died (after a brief 18 months on the throne) and Elizabeth acceded to the throne—it was 1558 and she was 24 years old. By this time, she had already become aware of a young statesman with whom she connected and felt comfortable—his name was William Cecil, Lord Burghley. He would become her most trusted advisor and would stay in her service as her most loyal and faithful employee for the next 40 years. There was only a 3-month period when she did not talk to him—the time when she was deeply guilty about having signed the order for the Execution of her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots (a Catholic)—a move that had been engineered by Cecil. In course of time, Cecil was named Duke of Salisbury and it is to the family of the Salisburys that this place belongs (it is still inhabited by the present Marquess of Salisbury) as King Henry exchanged this palace for one at Theobalds with the Cecils.

As we passed by the rooms in the Palace, we saw enlarged replicas of the signatures of some of the most historically significant figures of the period—Henry, Mary, Elizabeth, Lord Cecil, even Walter Raleigh (on the walls). There are also seven portrait busts, done after the style of Tudor court painter, Hans Holbein, featuring Henry surrounded by his famous six wives! Through this period, as we went from room to room, Joanna paused to let us sit down and listen to her mini-history lesson and it as just marvelous. We saw a really grand and well carved chair (more like a throne) that Elizabeth would have used. We also saw a set of paintings, the originals of which hang in Westminster Hall in London.

As the little tour wound down, we arrived at the Great Hall, one of those long and massive medieval rooms whch were used for multiple functions: great state banquets, the performance of masques and plays, even jousting matches. This one also has a checkered history having been used over the years as a kitchen and as a stable for horses. The timbered ceiling is easily the most striking feature (peppered with gun shot marks as attempts were made to kill destructive sparrows on the eves). But as one looks further afield, there are the amazing series of tapestries. These are digital reproductions on linen but they are simply spectacular as they depict the lifestyle, customs and traditions of the Renaissance period with lavish costumes, head-dresses, past times, etc. The originals are in the Victoria and Albert Museum. We enjoyed our wandering around this huge room as we made our way to a small ante-chamber at the back where there was a huge Inglenook fireplace. These rooms are given out today for events and this room forms the bar and serving space.

Next, Joanna pointed out a ‘Real Tennis’ court to us, behind a very nondescript door, set into the gorgeous red brick work of these buildings. We were also taken to the little hill at the top of Fore Street where the parish church of Bishops Hatfield is located—one of the oldest and most historic churches in Great Britain. It is not really connected to the Palace except that Lord William Salisbury is buried here and his tomb is one of the most spectacular in the country. Since it opens after 2.00pm, we nipped first into the tennis court to watch a match in progress (this part of the house is 18th century—so the Tudors would not have played here although Henry was an enthusiastic sportsman).

Lunch in the Palace Café:

We were hungry by the point and eager for a break and since it was almost 1.30pm, Michelle suggested we stop for lunch. The Palace Café was the only place to eat—and so we settled down with a Hummus and Salad Wrap for her and a Coronation Chicken Salad Sandwich for me. I asked for it to be warmed and toasted and with just water to wash down our repast, we had a nice meal—although not terrific. It met our needs for food before we used the facilities to continue on our wandering.

Our Tour Continues:

By this point, we were passing by some interesting shops and so we stopped to browse. I ended up buying a scarf ring (similar to the very pricey ones sold by Hermes) as I have so many scarves and cannot wait to try different ways to use it.

We also began our tour of the Gardens and I was able to see why the father-son team of Tradescants were so highly thought of in their time. Imagine…their designs and handiwork still survive more than five hundred years later. They experimented vastly with landscape design, building gardens to compliment the striking red brick work (often set in patterns on the wall) of the glorious palace buildings that they would flank. And so we walked through an Italianate Garden, a Knot Gardens (with a built-in maze), Lady Gwendolyn’s Garden, a Herbaceous garden filled with borders of typically English flowers in a soft color palette of essentially white and shades of purple. Quinze trees were laden with autumn fruit but bramble (blackberries) bushes were past their prime. There were still late-summer roses and loads of autumn joy sedum. But with the crisp nip of Autumn in the air, it is appropriate that a lot of flowers have started wilting to make room for the arrival of a new season.

Touring the Church of Bishops Hatfield:

When we had finished touring the gardens (and, honestly, these are so vastly spread out that a golf buggy as in Chatsworth, would have been most welcome), we made our way to the Church as it was long past 2.00 pm by this time and it would be open.

It turned out to be a most fascinating place—not only really old and atmospheric but crammed with significant historic monuments, each of which told a story. Of these, the following are most meaningful: The Tomb of Lord William Cecil, sculpted in white and black marble by Maximillian Colt—his effigy in marble lies on top of the tomb with a skeleton just below—to symbolize the bunch of bones to which we will all be reduced after death grabs us. The tomb is flanked by four figures all of which are in solid marble and represent the various art and business interests of the Salisburys. There is also a small metal plaque to mark the fact that King Charles II had visited this church. Over on the other side, is a grand stained glass window by one of my favorite artists, Edward Burne-Jones, executed in the workshop of his close friend, William Morris. I feasted my eyes on it and took many pictures. There is also a small memorial plaque to signify the death of Lord Melbourne (known as Lord M), one of Queen Victoria’s most trusted advisors. He was married to Lady Caroline Lamb who had a notorious and passionate affair with the poet Lord Byron, When asked why she had been unfaithful to her famous and very powerful husband, she had said, “He is mad, bad and very dangerous to know”. We also paused to admire the tiled flooring which certainly proclaims its age. The church dates from the 1100s. Outside, we paused to take in the graveyard with its aged, moss-covered stones but did not stay too long.

Finding Elizabeth’s Oak Tree:

One of the most significant items to see on this site is the oak tree under which Elizabeth I was sitting when she received news of her accession to the throne. The three messengers who rode up to meet her, alighted from their horses and fell on their knees. She is reported to have fallen on her knees as well and said, “This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes”, quoting directly from the Books of Psalms. And so began one of the most glorious of reigns and an era that gives its name to an Age. Michelle and I went looking for it and found ourselves on a wild goose chase as we were misdirected by another visitor who probably did not understand what we were asking of her. However, in the process, we had a lovely ‘woodland walk’, one of the many on the property that also brought me face-to-face with a deer!

When we did eventually find the oak tree, it was old, gnarled and completely devoid of any foliage. It is, in fact, a dead tree, kept there and fenced all over, for historic symbolism alone. Who knows how long it will continue to stand—so I was grateful to see it and bring meaning to a very important moment in British history, Yes, we did take pictures and then it was time for us to hurry along. Michelle had another appointment at 6.00 pm, I had theater tickets for the 7.30 pm show at the National Theater and both of us had a long journey to get there. So we said our goodbyes, not really knowing when we will see each other again—sooner rather than later, we hope.

Journey Back Home and a Few Detours:

And so, I retraced my steps back on the National Rail train to Finsbury Park and from there took the Piccadilly Line to Holborn. There, I alighted to run across the Sainsbury to buy my bottles of golden syrup. I do not get these in the States or in India and I use them to make my home made granola. I also bought myself a pack of 2 bowls of tiramisu—this too is one of my favorite thing to eat in England and I never leave without treating myself to this creamy dessert (Sainsbury makes it best).

Then I jumped back on the Tube and got off two stations later at St. Paul’s. My idea was to cross the Millennium Bridge on foot and get to the Tate Modern Museum which takes in the last visitors at 5.30 pm. I would just about make it. But first, I sat down on a bench at St. Paul’s and ate one of my tiramisu cups as I was hungry and also sorely tempted by my treat. Then, I crossed Wobbly Bridge as the rays of the setting sun bounced off all the glass on the concrete skyscrapers that keep altering London’s skyline daily. I took a few pictures on the Bridge and arrived at the Tate where I made my way straight up to the fourth floor to see the exhibition by Richard Long on the theme of ‘Walking’—something with which I could easily identify! It was a most interesting show involving photographs, installations, painted murals on the wall, etc. But by them by feet, cramped in my sneakers, were killing me and I had to stop for a bit of rest.

Making My Way to the National Gallery:

Well, as it was still only 6.00 pm (when the Tate closed) and I had a 7.30 pm appointment to see ‘Bacchae’ at the National Theater with Roz who would be meeting me there, I decided to take a very leisurely walk along the South Bank from the Tate to the Theater. And that was exactly what I did. It was a beautiful evening, the weather just perfect. Light bounced off the various buildings, people were looking forward to the weekend (apparently Thursday is the new Friday in Britain as many people work from home on Fridays) and the wine bars and pubs were filling up quickly. There were stalls selling a lot of street food on the South Bank and when I passed by the skate-boarding rink, I was amazed to see how much graffiti covers it. It was all very interesting.

the National Theater:

Eventually, I did get to the National and found Roz in the lobby enjoying a glass of white wine. I ordered a glass of cider for myself from the bar and since I was allowed to take it up to the theater (provided I put it in a plastic cup), I took my time consuming it. We stepped off on the terrace at the very top and had some lovely views of the river and Waterloo Bridge with the dome of St. Paul’s in the far distance. We took some pictures here and then hurried to our seats which were not bad at all.

So what did I think of the play? It was based on a tragedy by Eurypides and was rewritten by one Nina Taleghani. It was almost entirely a Black cast, many of whom had strong Caribbean accents. The language of the play was absolutely putrid and unnecessarily strong. I could not connect or identify with the play at all which did boast some good performers. Music and choreography were fine, direction was good too, and some stage effects were interesting, But, overall, I will say that although I liked the play, I did not love it. And Roz had exactly the same reaction. For the first ten minutes, she actually wondered if she should leave, she said. But then she was glad she stayed as she warmed to the manic energy of it all and rather enjoyed it. I thought the whole production had too much going on and I would not really recommend it to anyone else.

Home for Dinner:

Being that I’d made dinner appointments with friends for all of the days that I was staying with Roz, I was glad to finally have an evening with her. We hurried off to Waterloo after the play to take a bus to Vauxhall from where we changed to another bus. We got home at about 11.00 pm by which time Roz said she was starving. She had purchased some butternut Squash and Sage Ravioli from Marks that morning together with a small jar of tomato sauce and by chopping some mushrooms that she added to the dish and some curls of parmesan cheese, we had ourselves a really very quick and easy dinner that we relished with glasses of wine and finished off with chocolate covered gingers.

And so another day came to an end in London. Tomorrow, Roz will take me shopping for the last few things I need to buy. But I will have the afternoon to take in some more sights (I hope), once my packing is done and the evening to visit the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

A Fabulous Day of Discovery—Exploring Primrose Hill, Regent’s Park, Regent’s Canal Tow Path and Holland Park. Plus a Celebrity ‘Helicade’ Flies Above me

Wednesday, September 17,

Battersea, London

A Fabulous Day of Discovery—Exploring Primrose Hill, Regent’s Park, Regent’s Canal Tow Path and Holland Park. Plus a Celebrity ‘Helicade’ Flies Above me!

I had another fabulous (if profoundly fatiguing) day in London! Truly, as Dr. Johns put it, “When a man is tired of London, he tired of life itself”. So, as is my wont, evey time I am in London, I attempt to discover a part of the city I have never seen before—and this time, it was Primrose Hill. I plucked a Walking Tour route right off the internet before leaving home in Bombay, and Voila! I was off.

Off On a Walking Tour of Primrose Hill:

Primrose Hill is one of those chichi parts of London, inhabited by the well-heeled and the upper-crusted. It is right off the beaten path and when you are in its environs, it is hard to believe you are in the midst of a bustling global city—so serene and secluded is this place.

So I awoke, showered, breakfasted (on cake!—remnants of my Bottomless Cake Experience still languishing in the fridge) and set off at 9.45 am (Roz had already left for a breakfast meeting with a friend). I took the 344 bus toi Battersea Power Station Tube Station and from there boarded the Northern Line Tube lien to Chalk Farm. From there, I followed my walking tour route.

To say that it was delightful would be a huge understatement. The day was grey and cloudy, very windy and there was a soft and gentle spritz on my face. As long as it stayed this way, I was fine. I just hoped it would not get any wetter. I started up along stretts that were architecturally interesting for the fact that they were built at least two centuries ago in the style that has become quintessentially English. Generally three stories, they have a front porch, a ground floor level with a living room, a second and third floor with bedrooms and, in the more expensive versions, basements (where kitchens are usually located to lead directly out into back gardens). I took in these sights and came upon, quite suddenly, a blue plaque. Now as someone who can never pass a blue plaque without reading it to find ut who lived in the house, I found that it was the hoem of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, a titan of Indian history, drafter of the Indian Constitution, champion of the outcastes and down-trodden (now known as Dalits) in India. That he lived on Primrose Hill—who knew? I though it a lovely find! Dr. Raja Ram Mohan Roy used to live in a house on Bedford Square, right next to the building where NYU-London is located.

I have to say that at this point, I began to notice dozens of helicopters, one after the other, circling the skies above. I had no idea what they were or meant, but some of them clearly looked like army vehicles. I would find out soon enough.

The President is Coming!

Soon, I arrived at the entrance to Primrose Hill Park and began the climb to the vantage point from which one has lovely views of the city. Once I huffed and puffed my way up there, I noticed a large number of people facing the view with massive cameras in their hands—they were clearly professional photographers, if one wen t by the bazooka camera lenses in their hands and the sophistication of the tripods that they had set up. After taking in th views myself, I went up to one of them and asked what they were looking at or waiting for and was duly imformed that Trump’s entourage was expected to be flying past any minute as he was currently at Westminster and was due to fly on to Windsor. This explained the multitude of copters in the air—they were, apparently, clearing the air space to ensure full security as Trump flew past.

Well, of course, standing there and waiting for the big moment was a no-brainer—so I joined the celebrity-spotters with my humble little I-phone camera in my hand, hoping to also record this extraordinary moment. Meanwhile, I took pictures of the many London landmarks I could recognize: St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Gherkin, the Walkie-Talkie, BT Tower, Centerpoint Building, etc.

We did not have to wait long before the ‘helicade’ began. Apparently, the President always travels in an entourage of three helicopters so that snipers will not know which one to target. I spied two identical ones—he was supposedly in the first one, with a third security one following last—it has dual propellers which was a giveaway. Everyone had their eyes or their cameras trained on the helicade and so, of course, we had our big moments. And then, soddenly, when the fly-past was finished, the hordes disappeared just as suddenly. And so I had my most unexpected brush with global diplomacy. Let us hope that a lot of good productive thigns will come out of this pomp and ceremony.

Continuing down the hill on my walking route, I arrived at Regent’s Park Road. These are very posh parts of London and are punctuated by chic coffee shops, bakeries (from which the most appetizing aromas emanate), boutiques, etc. I walked by all of them, of course, and eventually, arrived at Regent’s Canal. I took the steps down to the Tow Path, as instructed, and gave myself up to the sheer pleasure of enjoying one of the prettiest and most unspoiled parts of the capital. Once upon a time, during the 19th century, these tow paths were busy, ablaze with business undertakings as the river played a very important commercial role and horses walked on the paths towing the barges. Today, they are paths for joggers, strollers, dog-walkers, etc. Autumn has come to London and I reveled in the crips, cool air. I so miss the change of seasons in Bombay (although NOT the winters) and Fall was always a season I adored (although Spring is my favorite). There is a great deal of color on the trees already and tons of leaves crackle underfoot as I walked. There are any number of house boats on the Canal and is it fascinating to imagine the lifestyle of these river people.

I then climbed up the stairs and arrived at the yard of St. Mark’s Church where I paused for a bit to take in the views and then carried on again. This time, walking along Chalcot Road, I arrived at charming Chalcot Square where I found the home once occupied by the American poet Sylvia Plath after her marriage to British Poet Laureate Ted Hughes. She lived in this quiet corner home for just one year, however. Moving on, I arrived at Chalcot Crescent, where I found the home at No. 30 that features in the Paddington movies. Of course, I took pictures at every stage. The houses in this area are also highly photogenic as they are all painted in quiet, ice-cream colors and are beautifully maintained. Their gardens also sport the last summer blooms and autumn flowers are everywhere—sunflowers and autumn joy sedum. At one point, I passed by the home of Jose Rizal, statesman and prominent politician in the Phillipines.

Moving on, I arrived again at Regent’s Park Road at which point, the walking tour ended and I was able to get back on the Tube at Chalk Farm Station. It had been a most delightful ramble and I am so glad I went—not just because I discovered a part of London about which I had heard so much over the years but because I saw for myself how desirable owning a home in this area would be (it is similar to Hampstead or Holland Park). I also saw how isolated it is and yet how crammed with the ghosts of historical figures who made great impact on the world.

Shopping at Marble Arch:

I decided to go ahead and do the shopping I needed to do while I still had some energy left. Needless to say, the nearly 3-hour walk had left me widned. My knees were protesting, my leg muscles aching and my lungs worked overtime to get me up and down those hills and dales! Yes, I might be a walker but all this compulsive exploration when I am in London, is clearly taking a toll on my physical abilities. I am very definitely pushing it! Makes me wonder how long I will be able to undertake such exhausting compulsions!

I arrived at Marble Arch Station, by which time it was almost 1.30 pm and I was ready for some sustenance before I began shopping. So up I went to the Café (stopping en route to use the rest rooms) and boy what a surprize I had! The Café at M and S has become very much upscale: it offers a most impressive breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea menu. In fact, the menu card itself is spiffy with appetizing pictures making you want to pause and eat everything. I thought I would go for the fish and chips (as I always have them at least once while in London), but instead decided on a Cheese Scone (also one of the things I love to eat in the UK) and a Very Chocolately Milk-shake. This would be lunch and it was substantial and delicious. I then texted my friend Frances who was expecting me at 3.00 pm that I would be just a bit late.

I hurried off to the Food Hall and picked up my stock of M and S cookies—truly wish I would have bought more but I know that volume and weight are at a premium when I am en route to the USA. So I stopped at just 4 packets of biscuits. Then, I marched off to the Womens’ Wear floor and found three pairs of wide-leg trousers that I wanted: in balck, navy blue and cream. Alas, chocolate brown was not available in my size and they do not do a black in this style. I grabbed the three that were available, went into the Fitting Room to try it on for good measure and then had it paid for and bagged and was off. I had one more mission accomplished and I felt very pleased with myself.

Off to Holland Park to meet My Friend Frances:

Then, it was to Holland Park where I had plans to spend the afternoon with a new friend. I met Frances very recently, on our East African Safari. We had hit it off immediately and have been closely in touch since it ended. When I told her that I would be in London, she invited me to her home for tea. It tuned out to be a most wonderful visit.

Frances has a truly stunning home. It is filled with the most sought-after names in contemporary Indian art. She has the eye, the taste, the style and she has brought it all together in a sprawling home that is gorgeously decorated. What’s more, she had prepared fresh avocado and smoked salmon sandwiches for me and, on the coffee table, stood a small glass cake stand with a red velvet cake, ready for my consumption, Sadly, I was too full with my recently-consumed lunch and told her that I would nibble later. So, we sat down to chat instead and to allow my feet to get some rest. During this time, I flexed my foot muscles and stretched my plantar.

After about an hour, we nibbled on tea, smoking peppermint tea and cake and then, fortified with our mid-afternoon repast, we decided to set out to explore the neighborhood. Now, unlike Primrose Hill, I know Holland Park well. It is an area I have explored because many scenes from my favorite TV series of all time, “As Time Goes By’ is shot on location in these parts. However, Frances lies on a most exclusive street—it is punctuated by houses owned by celebrities (although few of them live in these homes—being ensconced on their country states). I’m talking David Beckham, Simon Cowell, Andrew Lloyd-Weber and even, right across the street, opposite her home, the Maharaja Duleep Singh of Lahore, once lived. He was the one whose territory was annexed by Queen Victoria who then felt very guilty that she had robbed him of his heritage and ended up adopting him! He had spent a lot of time with her on the Isle of Wight.

So, Frances, who shares so many passions with me—Art, History, Gardens, Architecture—was a brilliant guide on the walk. She filled me in on the history of the place and drew my attention to little architectural details I knew nothing about. She has studied Art History at the British Museum—so she is truly a kindred spirit. Once we reached Holland Park, we passed by the famous Belvedere Restaurant where I had once invited to an evening’s reception when it was owned and run by the celebrity chef, Marco Pierre White. Today, it is in other hands, I believe. There was a shoot in progress for a mayonnaise commercial there and the restaurant was closed. However, on skirting it, we passed by a glorious Rose Garden where the last roses of summer—in my favorite color peach—were very much in evidence and photo-worthy.

Going further into the Park, Frances pointed out the remaining brick structures of the homes that once belonged to Lord Holland (after whom the Park is named). His bronze sculpture is to be seen later along the route. In the very formal Italianate Garden, Lionel and Jean, the two characters of “As Time Goes By”, had strolled in their much younger lives. I was thrilled to be in that venue which has remained timeless. Next, we walked through the fountains and sun dials of the formal English gardens—also showing the last of the summer blooms before they disappear for the year.

And then, we were following the path that took us to my very favorite part of Holland Park—the Japanese Kyoto Garden. In another life, when I had lived and worked in London, I used to come here to grade my students’ papers. It is a brilliantly conceived four-season garden: in the spring, azaleas and rhododendrons bring riotous color to the space nd in the Fall, maples in bronze, yellow, red and orange paint the scene with a completely different hue. There are usually peacocks strutting all voer this garden—but today we spied only one—and a bunch of cheeky squirrels who come right up close and beg for food. The focal point of this little garden is the cascade and as we walked towards it, Frances gave me a little lecture on the principles of Japanese garden design—quite similar to the Chinese in the concept of yin and yang in which opposites are deliberately brought together for visual contrast and texture. Yes, we took a lot of pictures together in the very soft evening light of autumn and overall were enchanted by our garden stroll. I could not have found a better companion for such uplifting wandering.

Back home, walking through Holland Park Mews, which Frances told me can be seen in so many movies, we returned to her place. As she was off to the National Theater and I had been invited for dinner by my friends to their home in Chelsea, we had to hurry off. She dropped me off to the Notting Hill Tube Station from where I would take the Circle Line to Sloane Square, In the process, I met her friend Sheila who is her regular culture-companion, and off they went.

Dinner with Friends in Chelsea:

I got on the Tube and about fifteen minutes later, I was crossing Sloane Square to arrive at Sloane Street to the home of my friends, Cynthia and Michael whom I think of as my ‘family’ in London. Of course, we had the fondest reunion with both of them looking well and ready to launch into a lovely catch-up chat. Dinner was getting ready in the oven when Michael placed a gin and tonic in my hand and offered me nibbles;;cashew nuts and crisps. After we’d spoken about everything under the sun, it was time to move to the table where I sat down to enjoy one of Cynthia’s delicious meals: Tuna Pie with a lovely golden potato mash topping served with steamed broccoli and carrots. It was wonderful. For dessert, there was Cynthia’s home made vanilla ice-cream served with stewed cinnamon Apples and Raisins. It was all superb but made more meaningful and memorable by the fact that they are such close friends of mine and that Cynthia considers me her sister.

Sadly, the time had to come for us to part as I did not want to be out too late on the street leading to Roz’s place. She was out for dinner and when I arrived at her door, I let myself in with the key and found the home empty. All that was left was for me to brush and floss my teeth, change and get straight into bed.

It had been a most eventful day and a very tiring one. I promise to do much less walking tomorrow when I have a date with my friend, Michelle. We are off and away to Hatfield House, another place I have always wanted to visit.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

A Muddled Kind of Day—with Superlative Food at Rochelle Canteen and Bursa Restaurant

Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Battersea, London

A Muddled Kind of Day—with Superlative Food at Rochelle Canteen and Bursa Restaurant

I had a leisured wake-up phase today. For one thing, I savored the feeling of waking up in one of my favorite rooms in the world—the guest room in my friend Roz’s home in Battersea. Occasionally, a train goes past on the railroad lines right opposite and, far from finding them a disturbance, I think their sounds are evocative to me of journeys to places unknown and parts unseen. Sometimes (like now), there is the distant hum of a passing airplane—as this route is on the flight path to Heathrow airport. Other than these sounds of transportation, the world is silent and serene here on Simpson Street and I absolutely love this sensation of waking up to the endless possibilities of another glorious day in London.

When I finished blogging, editing my photographs and sending them off to family and friends, I finally went downstairs, one flight below to the bathroom to shower and get set for the day. Then I joined Roz for breakfast—granola with yogurt and milk, mixed nuts and fresh chopped nectarines—a fruit I do not get in Bombay but rather enjoy occasionally. This was washed down with a delicious cup of decaff coffee—courtesy of Roz’s Coffee Bar! Then, leaving her to get on with a very busy day, I decided to get going too.

Off on the Bus to Battersea Power Station:

Roz’s home is not served by a Tube station—but there are buses a-plenty, just a few minutes’ away from her front door. She recommended I take the bus to Vauxhall from where I would get the Tube to Green Park as I decided to go and see the Keifer-Van Gogh exhibition at the Royal Academy (as it was closed yesterday). I had a bit of time to kill before my lunch appointment with my friend, Edward. Initially, I had thought of taking my intended walk up Primrose Hill this morning—but then I’d had too late a start (I left the house only at 10.45) and would be unnecessarily stressed for my meeting with Edward. Better to play it by ear.

As it turned out, we happened to be passing by Battersea Power Statiion (and since this was on my agenda of places to visit on this trip), I made an impulse decision to get off and explore it instead. Over the past few years, during my annual visits to London, this place was under major refurbishment—it finally opened just before my last visit to London (about three years ago).

It is astounding what they have done to the place. They took the Victorian Power Station building (which is simply gorgeous in its intricate concrete and fine red brick work) which had lain in disuse for at least a generation and decided to refurbish it to make it a community center of sorts. It would include a multi-plex cinema theater, handpicked restaurants (no chains), and high-end shops selling exclusive merchandise. Around it has sprung up at least a dozen high-rise buildings and, on top of everything else, they have built a new Tube station here which connects to the Northern Line. Everyone who made an investment in a flat in one of these buildings is probably laughing all the way to the bank today!

I walked inside what was a practically empty building. Every single high-end shop was empty—the poor salespeople faced with one more boring day. There are no chain-shops here (no Boots or Superdrug, etc.). There is a Boots outside, but not within (I can only imagine how expensive rents are if the developers need to recover construction costs). I was stunned by the vastness and size of the space. There are two Turbine Halls, No 1 and No 2, where gigantic turbines once harnessed water power through the Thames and converted it for domestic use. These turbines have been removed leaving the central space free for people to wander around, in and out of shops. Sadly, these expensive, exclusive shops will probably never be frequented by the well-heeled—they would, I am certain, prefer to go to Sloane Square or wander down the King’s Road. Anyway, once I got a flavor of the redevelopment and saw, for myself, how astoundingly it has been reconceived, I left.

Clothes Shopping at M and S:

Quite handily, I saw a Boots right outside and went straight in to replenish my stock of lipsticks for the year. I found them on sale and grabbed a bunch. I also found my Boots No. 7 Day and Night Cream on a 3 for 2 offer. So I picked them up too! That was two major items out of the way.

Next, I entered M and S and looked for trousers—I wanted wide-legged dress trousers in four colors—black, gray, navy blue and brown. But, long story short, they did not have my size and after consulting with the very helpful sales folk, I found out that the M and S at Marble Arch has them all in stock. So at some point, I will get there and grab them.

That done, I decided to try and find a Superdrug to buy my stock of Dove Body Wash in Nourishing Silk fragrance—which I have used for the past 17 years. I was not sure what to do as I still had some time to kill before meeting Edward. So I simply got into the new Tube station at Battersea Power Station and rode the Northern Line and then changed to the Central Line to alight at Holborn. I knew there was a Superdrug on High Holborn. It amazes me how wonderfully London keeps its public transport growing and flourishing by adding new lines as the city and the population keep expanding. Indeed, there is no doubt in my mind that this city has the world’s best public transportation.

b>Shopping on High Holborn:

So, High Holborn is my former stomping ground—I know every inch of it well. Except that shops come and shops go, as do restaurants—so while the basic structure of the place remains unchanged, good luck trying to find a favorite eatery or store if you’ve been away for a while. Superdrug had my body wash on sale on a 2 for 1 offer. They had only one of my needs in stock—so I left. I was told that there was another Superdrug just one stop away at Chancery Lane—so off I went there. And yes, I was lucky, I found a vast stock there, in my own former building. I put four bottles in the basket—my stock for the whole year (or two) and then, just laden down with my purchases, I descended down the Tube stairwell at Chancery Lane Tube Station (my former station) and rode it for one stop to St. Paul’s Cathedral where I had an appointment with my friend, Edward at 12. 45pm on the steps.

Off for Lunch to Rochelle Canteen:

I have waited for years to eat at Rochelle Canteen. Not just because the restaurant carries my name but because its food is so well reputed that it is next-to-impossible to get a reservation. I had made one initially online for myself—but when Edward told me that he could make himself free at lunch time to join me, I cancelled my single reservation and we changed it to a couple on the following day.

Well, Edward was right there on the steps after I’d passed by Pater Noster Square—it was on the path each day when I attended daily 8.00 am Mass at St. Paul’s Cathedral when I had lived in Holborn. There is a lovely new sculpture there now called “Welcome Wildlife” which reminded me very much of our recent travels on our African Safari. I took a picture of it. The Square was buzzing with lunch-time folk buying food from the many takeaway restaurants that have always crowded this area. I always feel deeply nostalgic when I am in these places and I realize that the reason I love returning to London so much is that it evokes in me sentiments that I remember with profound happiness.

Edward suggested we get a black cab to Shoreditch where Rochelle Canteen is located as it would be the fastest and easiest way to get there. Accordingly, we hailed a passing cab and were off. And from that point, for the next couple of hours, we did not stop chatting. It’s really funny that Edward chose this spot for us to meet as it was here, on this exact same site, that we had met 17 years ago—a meeting that changed the course of my London life forever and gifted me with the folks I consider my ‘family’ in this city.

Edward is a lawyer—a solicitor—whose office is nearby. He is senior enough now that he has the freedom to have a leisurely lunch hour by checking his phone to make certain things are in control at his office. When we did reach Playground Gardens in Shoreditch, we found it to be a most charming venue, tucked away from common sight, out of reach almost behind high walls in what was once clearly a Victorian school—it has doorways marked ‘Girls’ and ‘Boys’ in stone. Located in Arnold Circle, a really wonderful raised park with a slate-roofed round Band Stand in the center, it really made me wish I had more time to truly explore this delightful corner of London that is not just far from the madding crowd but hard to believe actually exists only a block away from the crazy bustle of the East End. What’s more, we made the astounding discovery that the reason the place is called Rochelle Canteen is because it is on Rochelle Street! Who Knew there was a Rochelle Street in London?? In fact, it is a very ancient one that dates back absolutely ages as could be guessed by the very old street sign on one corner of the red brick buildings that surround the circle that formed a kind of Place de L’Etoile! I was just beside myself and took many pictures of myself under the signs.

part of London, by the way—Shoreditch, Bethnal Green—is seeing a resurgence in popularity and gentrification as yuppies are flocking in to rent in order to remain within a decent sized commute from their offices at Bank and Mansion House. Old buildings are being refurbished and fitted inside with every mod con and the streets are buzzing with upscale coffee shops, boutiques and eateries to suit deep pockets.

We settled down at a table that was in a sort of glass-house—yes, that would be the best way to describe it. It is set in a beautiful late-summer garden still punctuated by tall hollyhocks and buzzing bees. Our table in the corner overlooked the back garden—also filled with flowering plants. The menu (which changes daily based on seasonal produce) was handed to us. The restaurant was founded by chef Margot Henderson and is run today by Head Chef Hector Henderson. Together, they have put Rochelle Canteen on the gastronomic map and it is every foodie’s dream to eat here.

So what did we eat and how was the food? Well, we started with the Devilled Crabmeat Tart—except that all the tarts were finished and they were serving the same tart filling on sourdough toast. And it was just amazing! Edward demolished it within seconds—he literally inhaled it. It was half a chunk of a large sourdough slice piled high with creamy crabmeat mixture, beautifully seasoned with lemon juice and subtly spiced with chilli to bring out the sweetness of the meat. And then, both of us went for the Roast Wagyu Beef that was fatty and served with the fat (seemingly like thick slices of bacon) floating in a flavorful jus. This was accompanied by punchy horseradish sauce and a simple salad of dressed watercress. To accompany it, we had a small bowl each of the best fries I have ever eaten. They were fat—superbly crispy on the outside and creamy within. Seriously…I do not usually wax eloquent about French fries! Of course, we did full justice to our meal. I savored every morsel as I focused on the juices and the flavor of the meat. It was perfectly done—medium rare and succulent.

We also talked nineteen to the dozen with Edward telling me all about his growing family (and sharing pictures of his adorable kids—all three of them) and then about his work and his family (I will be seeing his parents tomorrow for dinner at their place). He also invited me to come and meet the kids and his wife at their newish home in Clapham and since it is not far at all from where I am currently based in Battersea, perhaps I will try to make a short visit there.

As we had lingered too long over our two first courses and were quite full, we declined to have pudding but, boy oh boy—did I enjoy that meal! It made the long wait for a table completely worthwhile. And on that happy note, Edward paid the bill, refusing to let me even pitch in. It was the most generous of treats and I was very grateful indeed for his warmth and fondness for me.

Circling around Arnold Circle on foot, we arrived back on Shoreditch High Street from where we managed to get another cab that dropped me off at St. Paul’s Tube stop and took Edward off to his office. It was one of the most memorable of my afternoons in London so far and I feel blessed that I know all these marvelous people who took me to their hearts when I had first arrived to live in this city as a complete stranger to them.

b>Off to the Royal Academy:

With my bag fairly weighing me down and with the time showing around 3.30 pm, I got off at Green Park Tube Station. I was very fortunate that although the Keifer-Van Gogh exhibition is ticketed (the rest of the museum is free to visitors), I was able to get a free pass with my Met ID card! How cool—I saved almost 20 pounds! It is always a bit of a treat to walk through the grand courtyard of the Royal Academy, once home to Lord Burlington, after whom the adjoining Burlington Arcade is named. The courtyard is dominated by the sculpture of Sir Joshua Reynolds with palette and paint brush in hand, dressed in the smart attire of the 18th century complete with tail coat and wig. Inside, I dropped by bags (my back had begun to ache quite seriously, by this point, with the load), in a locker and took the elevator to the second level for the special exhibition.

b>Visiting the Keifer-Van Gogh Exhibition:

I really did not know what to expect when I decided to see this exhibition, I love Van Gogh and know his work well, of course, but I was not familiar at all with Keifer. So my introduction to his work was simply staggering. Anselm Keifer is a German artist who was born a little after World War II ended. He was very much influenced by the work of Van Gogh and spent quite a while in Arles in the South of France where he absorbed the atmosphere and environment that had led Van Gogh to produce some of his best known last works. During his time in Arles, he spoke to the descendants of many of the local people that Van Gogh had painted and he made pen and ink sketches and drawings of them.

However, it is for his monumental, mixed-media art works that he is most renowned. The canvasses are massive, the material he uses (splotches of a whole tube of paint at a time creating a kind of Jackson Pollock effect to represent a vast field of poppies, for instance), straw and thatching thicky covered with paint to look like wheat stalks in abundant fields, and the same material swirled around to resemble the constellations in Van Gogh’s famous ‘Starry Night’ (1889, MOMA, New York). I found his work deeply original, staggering in its impact (size and substance) and in the possibilities for installation. Such large works can only be purchased by institutions as they will never fit in anyone’s home! So, overall, I was deeply gratified that I had carved the time to see this exhibition so unexpectedly.

Across the Street to Fortnum and Mason:

I also made the disappointing discovery, through Llew, that I had left the gift I had purchased in India, for my friend Marie-Lou in Chicago. Llew will bring it with him and I shall mail it to her from Connecticut…but for the moment, I needed to buy her something from London. I chose to go to Fortnum and pick up one of their beautiful musical boxes which she can use as a Treats Bin for her dogs once the human cookies inside it are consumed! So with that purchase in my basket, I wandered around the upper floor, far from the crazy tourist crowds, and ventured into one of my favorite parts of London. It offers me the opportunity to purchase little items that I have bought over the years and added to my Tea Repertoire: silver tea strainers, tea balls to dunk into one’s cup, etc. I also love to feast my eyes on the abundance of exquisite porcelain tea sets in this part of the store—its best-kept secret. Over the years, I have craved one of the Herend tea sets—until we finally purchased out own on a trip to Hungary (Budapest) where the porcelain in produced. I found this time that the kind of merchandise being sold upstairs is very different. While there are bone china mugs and tea cup and saucer sets, there were no tea cozies and the hessian bags are also different—they do not have the heft of the one I use as my Art bag when I go for my weekly Art classes. Anyway, after I had swung around this part of the store and passed by the café where the famous sundae called the Knickerbocker Glory was invented and made renowned, I also took a turn around the Christmas store (yes, Christmas has come early to F and M) and then hurried out.

A Bit of This and That:

With my purchase done, I crossed the street to my locker at the Royal Academy to retrieve my bags –what a good thing I managed to lock them away there. They allowed me to browse through Fortnum’s without being seriously weighed down. Then, I was uncertain how to proceed and decided to get into a bus going to Marble Arch. I would survey the goods at M and S there and then get to my dinner appointment, eventually. Yes, I had dinner plans with my friend Bande Hassan at Bursa Turkish Restaurant on Edgeware Road which was not too far away.

Accordingly, I took a bus going to Edgeware Road and got into conversation with a lovely lady sitting by my side who was very well informed about global goings-on. When we arrived at Marble Arch on Edgeware Road, I alighted and began to walk towards Marks and Sparks, but then I spied a TK Maxx and decided to go inside instead. I feasted my eyes on the eye-candy within but did not buy anything. And my back was seriously breaking, by this point. So I simply decided to forget about Marks and go early to the restaurant, sit down there and await the arrival of my friend. I was tired, really tired, by this point. I had also discovered while passing by on foot at Victoria, that the bus stop I needed to get back to Roz’s place had changed its spot and I could no longer find it. I needed to call her to find out where the new bus stop was so that I would not be searching for it after dark.

I arrived at the restaurant on Connaught Street at about 6.30 pm and sat myself down to use the wifi, call Roz, get directions to the new bus stop to get back home. Within ten minutes, my friend Bande arrived, we found ourselves a nice table by the window and were waited on with a menu and some water. A little later, his relative Uwais arrived and we ordered the Hot Mixed Mezze and a bowl of hummus as starters as well as the Mix Grill Platter for a main. We decided to share these. Everything was superb—beautifully grilled and skillfully spiced or marinated to render meats succulent. For dessert, we had the Kunafa with Pistachio Ice-Cream—a totally winning dessert and one of my favorites. Uwais declined dessert but Bande and I shared a kunafa and he was quite charmed to indulge in something so delicious. I have eaten kunafa all over the Middle East—Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Amman in Jordan, Doha in Qatar and Jerusalem too-- and then discovered a place right in my little suburb in Bandra called ‘Kunafa World’ which does a really fabulous version of it. So, well sated with our meal, we took a few photographs together and left.

The two gentlemen saw me to the 36 bus stop at the corner of Edgeware Road from where I made my way to Victoria. As instructed by Roz, I walked across the Victoria Palace Theater and found the bus stop for the No 44 bus which came handily along and took me back to Battersea. It was just before 10.00 pm that I returned to Roz’s place. We spent about fifteen minutes while she ate her dinner (bacon, tomatoes, beans on toast) and I told her all about my day.

And, on that happy and very tired note, I fell into bed

tomorrow, cheerio…

Moving Day! From Chelsea to Battersea, Off I Go!

Monday, September 15, 2025

Battersea, London

Moving Day! From Chelsea to Battersea, Off I Go!

After days of traipsing tirelessly around London, it was time today to give it a (minor) rest. Since it’s the day I move out of my Air B and B in Chelsea-Fulham and shift to my friend’s home in Battersea (she’s had a houseful of family who have just vacated and left the guest room to me), I awoke fairly early and began blogging (as is my wont). Then I began packing my few belongings (how can such a small handful of items weigh such a ton?), showered, dressed, munched on a pain au chocolat and a mug of decaff coffee and said Bye to my lovely landlady Helen. My friend Roz and I would connect later in the day but, with the morning free, I decided to get to Piccadilly to see the Keifer/Van Gogh exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art. It was a beautiful day and it seemed a pity to spend it merely looking at the rooftops of Chelsea from my window in the fourth story garret that is my little room.

On the Bus to Piccadilly and Facing a Disappointment:

It’s amazing how quickly one becomes familiar with a new neighborhood in London. Striding to the bus stop and waiting for the No. 14 to turn up suddenly felt as if it was something I’d done forever. When the bus trundled along, I took my favorite seat—upper deck, front and center—and enjoyed the passing city beneath me. I took a lot of pictures of the brand new gardens at the Natural History Museum (inaugurated only last week by Catherine, Princess of Wales) and surely (but way too slowly) arrived at Piccadilly where I hurried inside—only to discover that the Royal Academy of Art is closed on Mondays! Bummer!

There was only one thing to be done—when the Mecca of artistic masterpieces is out of bounds, you hurry into the Mecca of Modern Gastronomy. Fortnum and Mason, my favorite food market in the world, stood obligingly opposite—so off I went into its 18th century revolving doors and joined the Japanese hordes squawking over dreams of marmalade and pukka cuppas. I needed a gift for my friend, Rosa Fradley, who informed me only two days ago that she could actually make it from Essex to London to see me. I hadn’t brought her a gift from Bombay, so F and M would be the place to get it. With a lovely musical tin of chocolate-covered gingers in my basket, I paid at the till and scooted off—so as not to be late for my next appointment. And what an appointment it was! So I walked one block to the Tube station at Green Park, got off at South Ken and jumped into the 345 bus going directly to Battersea. And I made it with minutes to spare!

The Bottomless Cake Experience at Jack and Beyond:

Everyone who knows me also knows of my gluttony for cake! So when I had discovered ‘Jack and Beyond’ and the gastronomic excess it promised in a shameless indulgence in Cake, I looked long and hard for a companion to share my joy. NO such luck! Everyone I know eww-ed when I told them there was “All You Can Eat Cake in 90 Minutes” for 25 pounds a pop!

But I remained undeterred! And on this visit to London, I promised myself I would do it—even if it meant sitting alone and salivating over scrumptious slices of Sugar. So here is how it went: I was presented with a slate salver of seven wedged slices of cake—basically the specialties of the house. Here they are: Red Velvet, Pistachio and Raspberry, Choco and Peanut Butter Banana, Carrot and Cinnamon, Double Chocolate, Tiramisu and one cheesecake—Lemon and Blueberry (which, funnily enough, was the best of the lot). I chose my favorite flavor first: the Double Chocolate (it was okay—no great shakes), then the Cheesecake (which was scrumps—it had a cookie-like crust and a white chocolate topping) and then the Pistachio and Raspberry. And, if you can believe it, that was all I could manage! The last was quite good but I was already satiated at this point and my palate felt jaded. As they usually sell the wedges at just under five pounds each, I was a total loss!

And if there is one complaint I could make it is this: They take reservations in advance and know when customers are expected. It would be nice if the salver of seven slices is kept outside at room temperature for a while to allow the buttercream frosting to soften and acquire the creamy consistency that cake-connoisseurs look for in their wedges. These were ice-cold—hence the cake was hard and the buttercream was not buttery. This definitely detracted from my enjoyment of the treat.

And yes, what with my general lack of sleep, all the manic walking I’ve been doing over the past few days, I felt sleepy, put my head in the pillow of my palm and decided to have a nap—yes, it was the typical sugar coma that follows the sweet rush! I napped for about 20 minutes before the sweet salesman, Yaseen, came to inquire if I was okay! Oh the deep embarrassment of it all! I told him I was fine—just catching up on my sleep. The place was empty, by the way. I had it entirely to myself (which is why I could indulge in so unrefined a practice). And then, when it was about 2.15 pm and my friend Roz texted me to say that she was free and I could come over, I went to the counter to settle my bill.

I was fully expecting him to charge me full price and send me on my way—but since I was alone (most people come in twos to share the salver and pay half-price each), he offered to pack up the remaining slices for me to take-away! How thrilling! I can now enjoy my cake the way I like it—at room temperature with the creaminess of butter frosting moistening the sponge and rendering it heavenly!

So how was my Bottomless Cake Experience, overall? Well, let’s just put it this way…I’m glad I got it out of the way. If you are an avid cake-eater I would recommend it, but I would also suggest you call in advance to confirm your reservation and request them to keep the salver out at room temperature for at least an hour—so you are not eating ice-cold cake.

Off to a Reunion with Roz:

At 2.30 pm, I strolled one block away to my friend Rosemary (I know her as Roz) who lives on the next street. We had a lovely joyous reunion as she had spent the morning cleaning up her house after her many family members had left, changing bed and bath linen, doing laundry and generally making my room picture-perfect for my arrival. Bless her! We could not stay long, however, as we had two errands to run before I made it on time for my dinner engagement with my friend Rosa at Liverpool Street Station. Roz had offered to drive me in her car, first to Paddington, to the home of our mutual friend, Bande Hasan, who was holding on to my suitcase that I had dropped off on my day of arrival when the Tube Strike was on; and then to Chelsea-Fulham to my Air B&B to pick up my backpack. There was no time to lose as there was London traffic to fight.

Visit with a Mutual Friend:

Yes, London traffic is a bear—and if you are actually behind the wheel of a car attempting to zip around town, perish the thought! You will be muttering profanities at every turn as some ignoramus tries to cut you off, intrudes into your lane with no signal or simply stops short in the middle of the road! Let me assure you that those days are gone when London was a civilized city. The place has been overrun by all sorts who have no respect for law and order, custom or tradition, and are running riot around the place with little thought for anyone other than themselves.

But eventually, we reached Paddington and stopped to pick up my suitcase left with the doorman when we were informed that our friend Bande was back from his medical appointment. We decided to park the car for just a few minutes and go upstairs to meet him. And that we did! It was a really nice reunion between him and Rosemary as they have not seen each other for at least a couple of years. We visited and caught up for about 20 minutes, but then had to run down to the parking meter or else risk a ticket.

Once again, in the car we went, Roz expertly manipulating the wheels and our route to avoid traffic snarls until we arrived at Fulham Road and made our way to Helen’s building right near the Chelsea Football Stadium. I left Roz in the car right outside my building and raced up four floors to get my stuff. Then, laden with the two bags (one on my back, the other in my hand), I was down in less than ten minutes.

I have to say again that the building is just fabulous—inside, the sage green ceramic tiles lining the stairwell, the heavy iron fretwork running along the polished wooden hand bar, the heavy stone stairs—no, they do not make them like this anymore and, but for the fact that I am no longer a spring chicken and cannot sprint up and down those four floors, it was a privilege to stay here for a few days.

Back in Battersea and Back Off Again:

In about half an hour, we were back home. Roz offered me a cuppa but I had to rush out the door (it as almost 6 pm) for my 7 pm appointment at Liverpool Street Station on the opposite end of town, with my friend Rosa. Fortunately for me, there is a direct bus right outside Roz’s place (the 345) that would take me directly there—no bus change necessary. So I dashed out…

The bus ride was just lovely. It was an hour long and took me on a ‘See London’ Tour through parts I would not otherwise have ventured into on this trip: Lambeth, Elephant and Castle, Southwark. These are places I would regularly traverse when I lived in London, on my mission to reach respondents of my research that formed my book on Anglo-Indians in Britain. In fact, I have to tell you that, at one point, I had a delightful deja-vu moment. Sitting on that upper deck, watching the panorama of London pass beneath me and having eye-level access to the decorative elements of so many vintage buildings, I relived my days as a London resident when this mode of transport had kept me happily engaged for countless hours as I traveled to venues that were once just names to me but with which, in the course of time, I became intimately acquainted. It was good to suddenly feel 17 years younger—when aching bones, protesting muscles, breathless moments, had been many years into the future!

Eventually, we crossed London Bridge and arrived at Liverpool Street Station. Rosa had arrived ahead of schedule and was already at our appointed spot—the bank of ATM machines directly opposite the platforms—and we had a really fond reunion after years. I think I had last seen her at least ten years ago, when I stayed with her and her lovely family at what was then her brand-new home in Stanstead.

Rosa, her husband Matt and I had met in the most unlikely of circumstances: they had taken my Highlights Tour at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a visit to New York, just before I had moved to London. They had loved it so much that next thing you know, we got chatting about Art, exchanged contact details, met a couple of times when I lived in London and a few times after. I know her boys well—although now that they have grown up so much I doubt I will even recognize them. Yes, now young teenagers, they are in high school and Rosa has her hands full. Which is why I was most appreciative of the fact that she got on a train, made the hour-long journey to London only to see me after a pesky dental appointment.

Strolling Around Spitalfields and Eating a Vietnamese Dinner:

Rosa is also a fan of London and loves nothing more than strolling around it to take in the new sights—in this area, towering skyscrapers that have altered the skyline irretrievably. We made our way to Spitalfields, entered the Victorian Market—all shut down for the day—and decided to go some place quiet where we could catch up at leisure. As Rosa has lived for an extended period in Singapore, she is a huge fan of all food Asian. And it was in search of Pho that we went as we share a mutual love for the steaming bowlful of broth. We found a place called ‘Delicious Pho’ which we took at its word and settled down to enjoy a Bahn Mi, the superb Vietnamese sandwich that includes pate and a salad and a gargantuan bowl of Pho—afloat with sliced brisket and meatballs. It was, as promised, delicious! Plus, we could not stop chattering—about everything under the sun. What a gorgeous catch up we had! Hard to believe it has been so long. I found out that although I do not hear a word back from her, Rosa is a faithful reader of my monthly newsletters and was fully up-to-date on the goings-on in my life! Wow! Who knew?

After feeling fully sated with our meal, accompanied by a shared bottle of Singha Beer, we were ready to call it a day—she had a long journey back home and the school run to do tomorrow and I was a bit worried about walking alone from the bus stop to Roz’s place in the dark.

Bus Journey Back Home:

Rosa waited with me at the bus stop until my 345 came along and after tight goodbye hugs, I was off. Another hour later—this time London glowed under its decorative illuminations when I caught glorious glimpses of Big Ben and Shakespeare’s Globe Theater—I was at my stop and hurrying, quite nervously, to my door. I had the keys—so was able to let myself in to find Roz getting ready to turn in. A few minutes later, I hauled my stuff upstairs to my room, delighted to find it looking as immaculate as a hotel room but far more cozy and comforting. I did not waste too much time before I got ready for bed and then crash-landed into it after what had been a fairly inactive day (by my standards).

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Day Two of London Open Festival Week Finds me Hanging out with the Saints at St. Etheldreda’s Church in Holborn; With friends over Brunch in Soho; With poet John Keats in Hampstead and Rocking with the cast of the Number One musical in the West End, ‘Hadestown’.

Sunday, September 14, 2025

London

Day Two of London Open Festival Week Finds me Hanging out with the Saints at St. Etheldreda’s Church in Holborn; With friends over Brunch in Soho; With poet John Keats in Hampstead and Rocking with the cast of the Number One musical in the West End, ‘Hadestown’.

When I am in London, no two days are alike—but Sundays start pretty much the same way! I must follow my own well-respected tradition and head to Holborn Circus (I lived two blocks away) to worship at the Church of St. Etheldreda, my erstwhile ‘parish’ church. Mass is at 9.00 am—so I made my way there at 8.15 am as I departed from Chelsea. I had slept the sleep of the dead and woke up feeling like a million pounds! Rarin’ to go, I showered, dressed, grabbed a small pastry that I ate on the bus and made my way down four floors to catch the bus No. 14 all the way to Tottenham Court Road Tube Station. London was having a weekend lie-in, the bus flew through empty streets and I was already in Heaven! I switched to the Tube’s Central Line for two stops going East, alighted at Chancery Lane from where I walked two blocks to well-hidden Ely Place (once home of the medieval Bishops of Ely) although only the church remains today. I took my regular seat for the start of Mass.

Sunday Mass at St. Etheldreda’s Church:

Two familiar faces were missing: those of Fr. Tom Deidun (who was parish priest in my time but retired recently) and Jane, a local lawyer who was the Lector for donkey’s years (she too has moved to her second home in South London to look after her ailing husband). The parish church is run by the Rosminnions, a medieval order and is led today by Parish priest, Fr. Anthony Furlong with whom I chatted after Mass to become up-to-date on the church’s affairs. He is wonderfully friendly and voluble (unlike Fr .Tom). I kept thinking of my friend Barbara and seeing her in the pew, sitting beside me—my former neighbor and, somewhat unusually a Catholic, she and I often attended Mass together in this church before we strolled together to Holborn Station so that she could buy her newspaper—the newsagent is there doing brisk business there. Mass included a lay sermon from one Tony, who became a ‘scribe’, ie. sought lay membership in the Rosminnion community and told us what the privilege involves. After Mass, I spent a while chatting with him and Fr Furlong.

What Makes St. Etheldreda’s Church Special to Me?

I always feel greatly blessed to be able to worship in this most historic of London’s Catholic churches. A church has stood on this ground since at least 1100. King Henry VIII, his daughter Queen Elizabeth I, Shakespeare and his contemporaries, Cardinal Newman and other luminaries of Roman Catholicism have worshiped here—which is why I always felt deeply honored to be included amidst their tribe! After the closure of the monasteries, much of the seat of the Bishops of Ely, here in Holborn, was destroyed. The church, however, was salvaged and became the first Catholic Church in London to return to Roman Catholicism after the Reformation (hence, it is considered London’s oldest church).

To enter this church is to enter London’s Medieval Life of monastic austerity. There is none of the exuberant decoration of the Baroque Brompton Oratory or the architectural soaring of Westminster Cathedral. This is Gothic simplicity, accentuated by dim lighting, earthy colors and the absolute and complete stunning glory of stained glass. The main window facing the congregation is in the French ‘royaume’ style—tiny bits of colored glass welded together with lead tracery while the window at the back is modern, post-World War II. The walls on both sides are filled with stained glass panels dedicated to the memory of the Church’s most prominent members and from what I saw the oldest dates from 1140.

The church is proud of a wooden casket, a reliquary, containing a piece of the arm of its patron saint, Etheldreda, a medieval saint who is associated with the small town of Ely, outside the university Town of Cambridge, where the Bishops of Ely have their country seat. She was a pious lady of fine birth who denounced her family wealth to found an order of nuns and led them through the most turbulent of religious times. She is buried in Ely Cathedral, one of the most striking Cathedrals in the country. The church in Holborn is profoundly proud of its history and offers all sorts of pictorial memorabilia for sale to visitors. Before leaving, I visited the Crypt or Undercroft where a wedding reception had clearly been held the previous evening.

On the Bus and Tube to Soho:

London was still unstirring when Mass ended and I decided to take either the 25 or another bus to Holborn from where I would switch to the Tube to get off at Piccadilly as my next appointment, at 10.30 am was there. Only when I reached the bus stop, I discovered that all the bus routes with I used to use daily have changed—no more 25 or 242. There is still the 8 but it terminates just a few stops ahead. Only the Night 8 runs to Victoria. There were two or three new lines added but they take very different routes. Gosh! I have found so many changes already since I lived here, now going on 18 years. My memories of these parts are as fresh today as they were about two decades ago and I still tread these paths with almost hallowed reverence laced with strong nostalgia.

Arriving for Sunday Brunch at Nessa Soho:

My next port of call was Nessa Soho, a truly chic eatery in the heart of Piccadilly. It was the venue of choice of two of my closest friends in London, Murali and Nina. They made their way from Wimbledon to see me and decided to combine the visit with a peep into the National Gallery as they are members and also passionately fond of Western Art. We had such a fond reunion as I realized that I have known them for almost 18 years.

So how and where did we get to meet? In the most unusual of ways. In 2008 when I came to live alone in London, I started my blog, Rochelle’s Roost in London, in which I penned my daily goings-on, in a kind of personal journal. The blog attracted a vast number of readers, one of whom was Murali, who is an intrepid explorer himself. I had reported on one of the Gresham series of lectures that I had attended in nearby Greshman Hall, and since he happened to be interested in the mathematician who was speaking that day, he avidly read my blog about the talk and then decided to follow me. Slowly, in the Comments section, he began giving me suggestions for places to see and discover in London and before long, we made plans to actually meet and once that was done, we began exploring London together on foot. He made a worthy walking companion as he is rife with historical data and is also a constant student. Over the years, we have met every time I visit London. In course of time, I became introduced to his wife, Nina and their lovely, super bright son (now, unbelievably, at Uni). I always make connection with them when headed to London.

Murali and Nina were already in the restaurant when I arrived on the dot of 10.30 am. They had scoured the menu and placed orders for hot drinks. I went for the Eggs Royale—the kind of brekkie I adore and rarely eat. It is an innovation on the famous Eggs Benedict—here, the bacon is swapped for smoked salmon and instead of poached eggs, I had mine scrambled. The eggs and salmon sit on a toasted English muffin and the whole concoction is bathed in hollandaise sauce—yummy! Together with a decaff latte, they formed a meal that would keep me going right up to 7.00 pm when, in a complete contrast of venues, I chose a fillet o-fish burger at next-door McDonald’s before I nipped into the Lyric Theater at the West End. But that will come later.

Brunch was the perfect opportunity to free wheel, conversation-wise. We chatted about everything: our family members and loved ones, our kids’ future plans, our own plans, our lives in Bombay and Wimbledon, current art offerings in the city, the job situation (bleak) all around the world, government, immigration policies, you name it…we discussed it. Two hours later, with Time having slipped by, we reluctantly shifted to other pastures, took pix outside to immortalize our meeting and disappeared—only to meet next time, inshallah!

On the Tube to Belsize Park:

My next port of call was Hampstead—I intended to cover two more Open Houses today and they are both in Hampstead. The first place I chose to visit was Keats’ House as he is simply my favorite poet of all time and he wrote my favorite poem of all time (‘Ode to a Nightingale’) and a clutch of his most famous poems while living briefly in this house.

My journey to Hampstead was long and complicated. I took the Piccadilly and then switched to Northern Lines to alight at Belsize Park from where I took the C11 bus to Keats’ Grove. Only the bus stop is called South End Green and I did not realize this—so I stayed on the bus much longer than I should have before I realized something was wrong, turned to the driver for help and was instructed by other passengers to alight, turn around and get off at South End Green. By the time I walked up the Hill and arrived at the House on Keats’ Close, a good 90 minutes at least has passed.

Touring Keats’ House:

Keats’ House is probably one of the more popular venues during London Open House Festival Week as entrance is free and who doesn’t love the poetry of John Keats, right? So when I eventually got there (after nipping into a few thrift stores to look for treasures), there were about a dozen people in a line ahead of me. Entry was being regulated by volunteers for safety reasons, but the wait gave me the chance to survey the garden and become lost in my thoughts.

It was while seated on a bench in this garden that Keats heard the plaintive song of the nightingale and grabbed a few sheets of paper to put down his thoughts. By this time, he had been diagnosed with advanced tuberculosis and told that his chances of living were slim if he continued to stay in the dampness of England. He was also a man deeply in love and engaged to be married to the lovely 19-year old Fanny Brawne who had moved in with her mother and sister, next-door. Keats and she soon connected and fell in love. He proposed to her, was accepted and gave her an engagement ring to seal their union—although both knew that his chances of survival were slim. The ring is on display in the exhibition inside the house.

Keats moved to Italy and settled down in Rome, finding rental accommodation which he shared with his friend, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, right behind the Spanish Steps. Their home is also a museum that I have visited for it was in this home that Keats died. He was 26 and had left a body of work behind that rivals everything else produced by the Romantic Poets (in my humble opinion). He and Shelley are buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome and legions of Keats and Shelley devotees visit the venue today where they lie, side by side, exactly as they were in life. I cannot walk into these houses without my sight being blurred with tears.

So on this self-guided tour (we were given little leaflets) we passed through the Shop or Reception room and into the ground-floor rooms. These were, at one time, two homes but somewhere in time, the partitions separating them was removed and it became one large house. Keats lived her with a roommate, his friend Charles Brown. The Dilke Family that loved next-door were soon replaced by the Brawnes—Mrs. Brawns arrived with her town daughters and Keats promptly fell in love with Fanny. By this time, he knew he did not have long to live—so was reluctant to declare his love. She accepted his proposal, however, and hoped for the best. They spent as much time together as possible through the fear of her contracting the disease from him. She was heartbroken on receiving the news of his passing away in Rome, wore his engagement ring her entire life and never married. Their sad love story is one of the greatest 19th century tales of unfulfilled love and it never fails to move me.

As we walked through the rooms, we could see the lifestyle of upper middle-class residents of London. Keats had trained as an apothecary and hoped to pursue a career in medicine and health care. His older brothers, George and Tom, were his mentors but they soon realized that they would outlive him. While living in this house--then called Wentworth Place—Keats was highly prolific and wrote some of the best-known of his poems (all the Odes, Lamia, The Eve of St. Agnes, etc.). It was a huge thrill for me to wander into one of the rooms and listen to a reading of ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ by someone with a brilliant voice while I looked out into the garden and could imagine Keats seated in it and scribbling the poem. I also listened to a vocal rendition of ‘Ode to Autumn’, a poem I also love dearly, while autumn had already begun to color foliage outside the window and mellow sweetness had already begun to bring chestnuts down from still-lush trees.

I also walked through Keats’ bedroom where he had lain feeling poorly while overlooking the garden and knowing the love of his life was next-door—so near and yet so far. There are items from Keats’ life preserved in this house, eg. locks of his hair, his nedical training note book, his ink pot, et. And what happened to the scribbling about the song of the nightingale? Well, after penning those immortal words (“Though wast not born for death, Immortal Bird”), they lay casually on the table and were found later by his brother, George. He collected the scribbling and published them together with five other odes penned by Keats that summer. As time went by, long after Keats’ death, his poetry caught the public imagination as did his tragic, short-lived span. The home was purchased and became a museum, a hundred years ago. Generations of Keats’ lovers have trekked up the hill to pay homage (as I did for the first time in 1987 while a student at Oxford) and once again, more recently, about fifteen years ago. Each time I come here, I learn something more about my favotite poet. I have a little pocket book of his poems by my bedside and I will frequently dip into it before falling asleep—feeling grateful that I still draw breath and live.

Next Item on my Agenda: Kenwood House

I had planned to visit Kenwood House too today. But, having lingered so luxuriously over brunch with my friends and in each room of Keats’ House, it was already almost 3.00 pm. Kenwood House, that I wished to visit, was closing at 3.30 pm and since it is on the other side of Hampstead, I realized I would not be able to make it today. Perhaps sometime, later in the week ahead, I can try again.

Knowing that my next appointment was only at 7.30 pm (a play at the West End), I had a lot of time to kill. Sadly, it is a Sunday and many shops close early. I resoled to take the long and slow route to return to London—a bus, because buses offer free built-in tours and Hampstead and the localities around it (Camden, Belsize Park, etc.) are really beautiful. Yes, a truly lovely day can suddenly get marred by a fierce downpour—but this is England and one takes it in one’s stride, equipped always with a small umbrella and with the realization that if you wait five minutes, the weather will change again.

So by 4.00 pm, I was delighted to find a No. 46 bus returning to the city. I am familiar with it as its route passing right along Gray’s Inn Road outside my former building. It took me about forty minutes to arrive there. Alighting before it turned towards Smithfield Market, I nipped into the M and S across my building on High Holborn and browsed through the Sunday papers on the wracks They were full of news about the rowdy protest demonstration at Parliament Square yesterday. I surveyed the offerings but was not hungry yet—my brunch was still keeping me going. I walked then to Sainsbury Local at Holborn and surveyed its offerings. I did not do any shopping (although there are some things I want to buy and take home) as I am reluctant to pile on the weight only to haul it all down four floors of my current lodgings which have no lift.

Off to the West End:

It was not quite 6.00 pm yet and Waterstones, the book shop chain, would be closing at 6.00 pm. So I simply decided to take the Tube from Holborn and get to Piccadilly to be within a stone’s throw of my theater, the Lyric. I arrived at the Statue of Eros at about 6.00 pm, nipped into the tempting new Lindt chocolate store there, then walked ahead to the McDonald’s at the corner as I knew I could sit there with my phone and catch up on my mail for as long as necessary. That was exactly what I did. It was time also to order an early dinner and I chose the Filet-o-Fish burger meal with fries and a diet Coke. Downstairs, I made myself at home among the dining tables and enjoyed my meal while also checking out mail and communicating with family members and friends. I was there for over an hour, resting wonderfully after my action-packed hours, and then leaving to get next door to see ‘Hadestown’.

Seeing ‘Hadestown’ at the West End:

Yes! I had snagged a ticket to see the hottest musical in Town. I had missed it in New York (where it is still impossible to get tickets), so was overjoyed to find one here. I did not know what to expect and hoped it would not be rap music as I had not connected at all with ‘Hamilton’ because I dislike that genre of music (is it even Music?).

But, boy oh boy! From the get-go, this play simply scintillated. I loved every second of it and every aspect of it--the musicians, the music, the singing, the acting, the choreography, the technical elements such as lighting and costumes, stage sets and design. Everything was gripping from the first notes and I was hooked. I must say that my knowledge of the Greek Myth of Orpheus, Eurydice, Persephone and Hades, God of the Underworld, is a bit hazy. I resolved to get back home and read up on it again…but for the time-being, I was glad to live entirely in the moment and to watch and listen and marvel at the most phenomenal talent spread out before me.

As it turned out, it was the last performance of the actress, Victoria Hamiton-Barett who took her last curtain calls as Persephone tonight amidst undying adulation and unending applause. She was presented with a huge bouquet of roses and a really brilliant and very moving tribute from Chris Jarman, her co-star who played Hades. Overall, I could not have picked a better night to see the play and I left once again fully moved and exhilarated.

Back on the Bus Home to Chelsea:

I was back on the No 14 bus to Chelsea at a little after 10.15 pm—much later than yesterday. As always, I am scared to be out so late when I am traveling alone but I have no choice and I try to keep my wits about me. I reached home in half an hour and had to climb Mount Everest to my flat while ready to collapse. I did not stay up too long and after editing and sending out a few pictures, I crashed into bed.

Tomorrow is a significant day as I will be moving house. There is stuff to pack and organize and I need my energy for the next phase of my London stay. Basically, I will take it easy and not rush from one venue to the enxt. I am looking forward to spending much of the day with London friends who are very dear to me and whom I see only very rarely.

Until tomorrow, Cheerio...

Touring Private Spaces on Day One of London’s Open House Festival Week: Battersea Arts Center, Kelmscott House, Lincoln's Inn, HMS Wellington, 'Born with Teeth' at the West End

Saturday, September 13, 2025

London

Touring Private Spaces on Day One of London’s Open House Festival Week

This year, I have the good luck of arriving and staying in London, purely by coincidence on Open House Festival Week—a week during which private spaces, usually closed to the public are opened, free of charge, for walking tours, lectures, demonstrations, etc. I had registered for many of the items before leaving Bombay and spent today, racing from one venue to the next, to take them all in. Some were more fascinating that others, but in general, I think I chose well.

Leaving Chelsea to See Battersea Arts Center:

I did not sleep at all last night—not one teensy-weensy wink! Blame the caffeine in the free coffee I picked up from Waitrose. No freebies for the wicked, it seems! Tossed and turned all night, then gave up at 5.00 am when I began blogging and sent a few photos to friends.

At 6.am, after trying again, I gave up finding sleep and, in frustration, got out of bed, showered, changed, had a make-shift breakfast in my room (finished my profiteroles—one craving out of the way—and brewed myself a cup of decaff coffee—yes, I carry my own supplies). I then left the house at 9.00am to start my journey to Battersea for the first item of the day on my London Open House Festival Week agenda.

I took the 14 bus and got off at Beaufort Street off Fulhan Road, then hopped into the 345 going crosstown across Battersea Bridge to Battersea. It’s on Lavender Hill and with the Transport for London website making it easy for me to find my way to any place I wish to go using public transport, from Point A to Point B, I did all my homework while lying sleepless and charted out my routes for the day. It took me about an hour and changing of two buses on a gloriously sun-drenched morning, to get to my destination.

Touring Battersea Arts Center:

This is a gorgeous red and white concrete and red brick Victorian structure, built in the heyday of gorgeous public buildings, in the mid-19th century when the national ethos (thanks to Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s consort) was to encourage simple living and high thinking among the masses and the provision of community centers, free libraries, etc. became all the rage.

En route, just before I arrived at the building, I nipped into a charity shop and picked up the Season Three DVD of ‘Gavin and Stacey’ for 50 p. Unbelievable. I already own Seasons 1 and 2 and it is a favorite show.

This building is associated with the Suffragette Movement (its leader Emmeline Pankhurst did her research and held organizing meetings here); with fashion doyen Vivienne Westwood, a local Battersea girl, who sketched her vision for wearable fashion here; with Joanna Lumley who, as a rising star, in the 1970s, was in stage productions in its Main Hall; with Fleetwood Mac, who in the 1960s, performed on this stage, etc. It has a beautiful stained glass octagonal rotunda which carries a line from one of Shakespeare’s plays (Richard II)—Lord Bolingbroke and his family were aristocrats from Battersea. The Main Hall was badly burned in a 2015 fire and refurbishment is still going on although a wedding was to be held in it in the evening.

Architecturally, it follows the lines of most medieval Town Hals (the one in Oxford in simply magnificent), encrusted with plaster of Paris sculptures, stucco decorative skeins of flowers, etc. that are then painted over. This building is badly in need of refurbishment and it leaves the visitor aware of how difficult and expensive it is to maintain these heritage structures which would simply fall to seed, were it not for local fund-raising. I was the only visitor at that early hour of the morning and had the place entirely to myself. I did not spend long as, apart from the gigantic and very impressive ‘bridal descending’ kind of ballustraded staircase, it has nothing much to commend it.

Back on the Bus to Hammersmith:

My next port of call was Hammersmith on the banks of the Thames.—this is not an easy place to reach, at the best of times, as it is fully isolated and private and involves a long 15-20 minute walk from the closest bus stop or Tube station. I retraced my bus route from Lavender Hill in Battersea to the Fulham Road; from there, I boarded a 14 bus going towards Putney, then got off just a little ahead to take the 319 going to Hammersmith. It was another long-drawn out journey, but I love these bus rides as they show me London—not just the touristy bits but the real outlying city filled with real people, their homes, their places of work, pubs, shops, etc.

It was actually quite a good thing I was leaving the city center and heading to the periphery as a massive rally is to occur today at Parliament Square. It promises to be over 100,000 strong and has brought in right-wing conservatives, followers of Tommy Robinson, who are on a “United in Britain” campaign protesting corruption in government and, above all, current immigration policies. Had I stayed in Central London today, I would, no doubt, have been badly hampered by disrupted traffic and unprecedented hordes descending upon the city.

Hammersmith is a major commuting hub between the city and the suburbs. It has a famous bridge that spans the Thames in a most decorative way, a Tube station, a bus depot and several malls that always keep it heaving. I used my data package on my Iphone to find my way to my destination across a major street before finding Furnival Gardens and the tiny Dove Pub besides which the venue lies.

Visiting Kelmscott House, Hammersmith Home of William Morris:

My destination was Kelmscott House, home of William Morris. I have always been an enduring fan of William Morris—one of the most active members of the Pre-Raphaelite Group of artists that originated when they were undergrads at Exeter College, Oxford (my alma mater). I have visited, over the years, Morris’ homes all over the place: in Walthamstow where he was born and raised till age 12, then in the Red House in Bexleyheath which was a collaborative work of design and decoration with other members of the Group (Edward Burne-Jones, Dante Gabriel Rosseti, William Steath, etc), Kemlscott Manor (in Oxfordshire where he lived with his wife Jane and daughters, Jenny, May and Jane, a model of domestic bliss conceived in the highest traditions of the Aesthetic Movement--which the Group founded). Every time I have tried to visit this house, Kelmscott House in Hammersmith, it has been impossible (very limited visiting hours, out of-the-way location, etc.). So when I found that it was open, free of charge to visitors today, I wasted no time signing up.

Kelmscott House was packed—Morris has generations of fans, mainly women, who adore his designs in wallpaper, fabrics, tapestries, cushion covers, rugs, wall-hangings etc. Indeed. his designs have stood the test of time and because they are so distinctive, everyone can recognize them easily, once they know Morris’ style. Almost 200 years after he created them and marketed them through his Morris And Co. (which he co-founded with his friends), they continue to be produced and are highly in demand by interior decorators. I try to live myself by one of his famous adages: ‘Have nothing in your home that you do not believe to be beautiful or useful’. What a terrific law to live by (in our age of clutter and mindless acquisition)—a clear reaction, in his own time, to the Victorian tendency towards excess.

Once I reached the house, on a bracing day in late-summer, with joggers, walkers, dog trainers etc. milling along the Thames Path, with verdigris green Hammersmith Bridge nearby, I was ready to drop my heavy bag down and start drinking in the delights of the home Morris had occupied with his family overlooking his beloved Thames on what was then the outskirts of the city.

The home is entered through what is now the Reception Room cum museum cum shop. I was sorely tempted to buy two cushion covers for 23 pounds each, but I fought the urge and resisted. They featured his ‘Bird in Strawberry Bush’ design which is so quintessentially English that I adore it. The history of Morris’ highly checkered life is legion: his work as a designer, decorative artist, entrepreneur, businessman, printer, bookmaker (he founded the Kelmscott Press here and personally typecast and printed so many significant works of literature from this venue--including the Kelmscott Chaucer). All these milestones are painted on the walls, together with swathes of his wallpaper designs, his sayings and adages that record his highly instinctive and very distinctive principles of interior design and decorating, gardening, landscape layouts, etc. He was truly a Renaissance Man and he worked tirelessly. The legacy he has left behind is still fondly embraced as his designs have never fallen out of fashion. He debunked the Victorian ideal of decorating that focused on unlimited acquisition resulting in clutter. Instead he espoused a form of minimalism based on uniformity of vision and design. He embraced Nature fully and found endless inspiration in fruits and flowers, birds, insects, trees, leaves, etc. These are artistically rendered by him through his own cutting of wood cuts that because his printing blocks. It was just fascinating to have a refresher course, as it were, in the Pre-Raphaelite philosophy that I so love.

There is one tiny room behind the house that leads to the small garden outside (given for event hiring) and then one descends one short flight into the heart of the home. There is a main room with a beautiful fireplace, decorated with ceramic tiles of his own design, and snatches of information about his life and work on the walls. Moving further on, one enters the tiny room that was used as the Printing Press for the Kelmscott Press publications. Here, there was a printing demonstration in progress and I was able to see a small (by industry standards) press that is still very much in use. I understood, for the first time, why it is called a printing “press’—there is a massive lever one has to manually press down so that ink that is applied on the manually set typefaces with a roller creates the imprinted impression on paper inserted inside. I am actually not so young that I have not seen this form of manual printing done in India even in the 1970s when typesetting was a craft and imprints needed to be carefully proof-read so that any mistakes in the typesetting could be corrected. It is a fascinating bygone art form that has been replaced by mechanical and now digital forms of printing and publication. I chatted a bit with the printer who carried out a demonstration just for me alone before a large group of visitors followed.

I was simply delighted by my visit to this place and really happy that I finally made it inside and on such a significant day. I used the rest room before leaving, delighted to find Morris’ wallpaper all over the walls—indeed a lot of people use his wallpaper designs in small, contained spaces such as their powder rooms where they are seen at their best advantage as they could easily overwhelm larger rooms. My powder room in my Southport, Connecticut home, sports Morris wallpaper too.

Then, it was time for me to pick up my bag from the Reception Counter and move on. I was headed to Bloomsbury for lunch at the Brunswick Center and I knew I would be late (as I had not bargained for such a long, time-consuming walk to and from the Tube station when planning this day). I texted my friend and told him I would be late but he should go ahead and order.

On the Tube to Russel Square for Lunch at the Brunswick Center:

My Tube journey took more than half an hour, but I finally reached. My young friend, Vir, now an undergrad at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in Bloomsbury, is studying International Relations there. He had been my student for four years of his final IB course (from Grades 9-12) in Bombay and we have grown into close family friends. His parents Monisha and Vivek are not close friends of Llew and me. When I discovered on a recent visit with Vir in Bombay (on his summer vacation) that Brunswick Center and the ‘Hare and Tortoise’ restaurant is one of his favorite places, I realized, we were kindred spirits and we made plans to meet. I love the fact that yesterday I lunched with one of my former NYU students (now a close friend, Elise) and today I was at lunch with another fairly-new and much younger student, Vir, who has become a good friend too.

Vir was waiting for me when I entered and had ordered sushi and a Penang Chicken Curry over steamed rice for himself. I never leave London without at least one meal at the H&T (as Vir told me it is known among his friends) and I always order the Curried Laksa which is one of my favorite things in the world to eat. I was slowly but surely ticking off all the To Eat Items on my London agenda.

Needless to say, the food was absolutely scrumps. I rarely eat sushi and when I do, I realize how much I love it. My laksa, of course, is every bit as delicious as I know it to be. Filled with chicken and seafood, noodles, dumplings, etc, in an incredibly flavorful spiced broth, it is my dream of comfort food. Vir and I chatted non-stop, like a pair of old pals, before he had to leave early to see the play, ‘The Devil Wears Prada’, with his parents who are vacationing with him in London at the moment. Sadly, I could not meet them, but we had just spent a whole evening together in Bombay last week. Vir left at 2.00 pm, leaving me to savor the last of my laksa before I too had to clear the bill and move on. The day was moving swiftly because I was trying to fit in as much as I could see on this Open House Day. Hence, I did not have a chance to browse around Brunswick Center, a place I love and used to frequent while I lived close by in Holborn—it has restaurants, shops, a supermarket (Waitrose) and a bunch of places that could allow one to easily pass an entire morning here.

Off to Lincoln’s Inn at Holborn:

I hopped back on to the Tube and a half hour later, I was at Holborn—this area is known to me like the back of my hand as I used to live here and it was very much my former stomping ground. I crossed Lincoln’s Inn Field on foot (supposedly haunted) and arrived at the ornate brick and concrete, tower-like gateway to Lincoln’s Inn (supposedly partly built by the Elizabethan playwright Ben Jonson who was a mason in his day job) which was simply packed with visitors. These places are out of bounds to the public—so everyone was snatching the opportunity to venture inside these exclusive spaces during this Week.

So for the Uninitiated: Lincoln’s Inn is one of the four Inns of Courts at Chancery (the other three are Middle Temple, Inner Temple and Gray’s Inn—my flat was just next door to Gray’s Inn when I lived in London). Dating from Medieval Times, when the study of the Law was in the hands of men who had taken Holy Orders), they were required to remain ‘in residence’ for four years in one of the Inns where they slept, ate, worshipped, did research, studied under senior lawyers, attended court as interns, kept chambers, etc. in order to be, eventually, ‘called to the Bar’. Lincoln’s Inn is the largest of the four Inns of Court and sports a series of stunning buildings designed in red and white materials that sport high towers, cupolas, domes, winding staircases, sprawling gardens, the whole works. It is a small settlement unto itself and carries its own unique culture. Hence, each of the Inns has a Main Dining Hall (students have to still eat a minimum of four meals in Hall during each semester—this is mandatory), a Chapel, a Library, a Crypt (or Undercroft). All of these buildings were open to us today and we had the chance to take a self-guided tour. There were beautiful flyers presented to each of us and using that as a guide, we surveyed the buildings, entered them, watched short films, listened to contemporary, multi-racial lawyers speak about their time as students in this venue, etc. It was all completely absorbing.

Touring Lincoln’s Inn:

Inside, most visitors are completely taken by the Main Hall. The medieval Hall had been destroyed in a fire and was rebuilt and redecorated in the 1880s when Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, had inaugurated it and declared it open. It sports beautiful murals and is stacked with oil portraits of many eminent lawyers who have passed through its doors—among them Prime Ministers Tony Blair and Margaret Thatcher and Pakistan’s Mohammed Ali Jinnah. (Gandhi was a resident in nearby, adjoining Middle Temple, and was called to the Bar from that Inn). It always fascinates me, when I walk through these corridors, that they were once inhabited by some of history’s most notable figures and to be in the same air that they breathed is a great joy to me. The Hall has a magnificent hanging pendant timbered ceiling and too many decorative elements to enumerate.

From there, I followed the walking tour route and arrived at the Library—a beautiful, two tiered room with another towering, timbered ceiling, dominated by the larger-than-life size sculpture of Lord Iskine in marble. Students use the library for reference and to pass their Bar Exams. I took in its many features before moving on.

To get to the Chapel, you need to pass through the Crypt, a beautiful structure with fan vaulting that dates from the Middle Ages. These buildings were first constructed in the 1400s—so they are many centuries old and have continued to maintain their functions and purpose while the modern city of London has completely enveloped them.

We climbed one flight of stairs to get to the Chapel upstairs. I have to say that I had been in this chapel before, many years ago, when I was wandering outside on the streets and a lawyer associated with the Inn, had offered to take me on tour and had showed me the chapel. I remember how privileged I had felt to have access to this building at that time.

Today, I joined scores of others as we took in the amazing stained glass windows on both sides of the chapel and the main window that is completely covered in glass with the coats of arms of all the worthies who served England well as they practiced and enforced the Law. These Victorian stained glass panels, of saints and holy Biblical men, were removed to preserve them during World War II when London was being mercilessly shelled during the Nazi Blitzkreig. They were saved and later replaced. Yes, services are held here every Sunday and there is always a resident preacher in attendance. In the 17th century, one of them was the Metaphysical poet, John Donne, who had preached here before taking on the position of Dean at nearby St. Paul’s Cathedral. His name is on the wall as one of the Preachers of this Chapel. The chapel also has a stunning pipe organ on which regular recitals are given. There are also beautiful old lights that produce a magically soft effect, very conducive to prayer. People were clicking pictures all over the place (as was I).

The final building to be seen was the Old Hall (a much smaller building) where meals are still taken and which sports more stained glass. I rested a bit on one of the dining chairs (all well carved and upholstered) before moving on. I needed to get to Temple—but I took the Tube, it would take me at least 45 minutes to get there. On my own two feet, I would reach in ten minutes—so walk I did.

Off to See the HMS Wellington:

The HMS Wellington, a white, small war frigate, is docked on the River Thames, close to the Temple Tube Station. It is now a restaurant but it had, at one time, played a massive role, in the winning for Britain, of World War II. It was already late in the day, so all we got was a quick look at the exterior. For a real tour that will cover the deck, the rooms below deck, etc., one can return tomorrow. I might not have the time as I have another packed agenda of Open Houses to see (these being in Hampstead).

By this point in time, it was 4. 00pm. I had a ticket to see a play at the West End—at Wyndham’s Theater near Leicester Square for the 7.30 pm show. Not having slept a wink last night, jet lag and fatigue had finally caught up with me and I felt ready to drop. I tried to think of where I could go to rest until the play began—my flat involves a four-floor walk-up that I am unwilling to undertake more than once a day. Hence, I called my friend Bande Hasan who lives at Paddington and asked if I could come and crash at his place for an hour’s nap as I badly needed it. He gladly agreed and told me that I did not even need to ask.

So off I went on the Tube’s Circle Line from Temple, got off at Paddington and walked seven minutes to his building. There, I just collapsed and was out for the count for a good one hour. When I awoke, after setting my alarm, he offered me a cup of tea, but I was still full from lunch and declined. Then, I collected my stuff and headed off.

Back on the Tube to Leicester Square:

I arrived at Leicester Square and found, to my utter delight, that my theater was literally adjoining the Tube exit. I was about half an hour early, so I collected my ticket from the box office and took a further rest on one of the sofas in the lobby. Eventually, fifteen minutes before the play began, I took my seat. I had a ticket to see ‘Born with Teeth’, a brand new play that opened only today and has yet to be reviewed. It caught my eye when I was looking at tickets, to buy from Bombay, because of its unusual theme.

So here’s the rub: the play is a two-man show featuring the playwright Christopher Marlowe (played by the Rwandan-Scottish actor, Ncuti Gatwa) and Shakespeare (played by Edward Bluemel). The premise is that, as two good friends and sometimes frenemies, they decide to collaborate on the writing of a play. It is 1551, they have great plays behind them already but still have to pay their bills. Believing that two heads will be more productive than one, they sit down to co-write a play. The result is fireworks between them, as personal history, egos, etc., get in the way. The play is stacked full of allusions to contemporary historical, religious and social going-on and includes frequent lines from the plays of both poet-writers. Yes, it was scintillating and the chemistry between the two of them was fantastic. Gatwa is a commanding stage presence and I can see that after a really successful stage and film career so far (he played the first non-white Dr. Who on TV and was most recently in ‘Barbie’), he is all set for a charmed career ahead of him. He has the looks, the build and the talent and he has already taken off. In fact, two days ago, I saw that his portrait is already hanging in the National Portrait Gallery—a sure sign that one has arrived.

I was dead tired and I have to admit that I actually nodded off during part of the play—but it was easy to pick up the threads again. It was all very unexpected. I had though that it would be constructed around the fictional concept of the two having actually written a play together that got lost to time. But this does not happen as the verbal sparring between them precludes any real productivity and the play remains unfinished. They received a standing ovation and I have to say that while I admire the premise behind it, it did not really grip me.

Back Home on the Bus to Chelsea/Fulham:

It was almost 9.00 pm when the play ended—it was a straight 90 minute run with no intermission. I took the Tube from Leicester Square station next door, got off one stop later at Piccadilly and then hopped into the 14 from there, going all the way to my stop. I had a short three minute walk to my building before I let myself in and was ready to collapse. I ate a sandwich on the bus which formed a makeshift dinner.

Back I my room, I got ready for the next day, brushed and flossed my teeth, spent a few minutes chatting with Helen and then simply crashed. I hoped very much that I would catch up with sleep and before I even finished sending off some pictures to friends, I faded off.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…