Brunch with Friends--and a Day of Marvelous Music (at Canary Wharf and BBC Proms)

Saturday, August 13. 2016
London

     Today was all about Music--of the most marvelous kind. And in listening to truly great stuff, I ticked an important item off my Bucket List, namely, attending the BBC Proms. But I am getting ahead of myself...

Beginning Work at Dawn:
     I awoke at 6.30, lazed until 7.00, then sternly told myself to get cracking. I intended to spend much of the morning at work on the paper I will be presenting at the conference in Edinburgh, Scotland, that I will be attending early next month. While Bethnal Green lay fast asleep on a Saturday morning and before it stirred to life, I used the quiet stillness of dawn to start drafting my paper. In-between I stopped to fix myself a breakfast of muesli with yogurt and coffee and then I was at it again. Before I knew it, the hands of my watch had crept to 9.30 am. When I received a text from my friend Edward informing me that our brunch appointment would need to be postponed by an hour--from 11.00 am to 12 noon--I actually welcomed the delay as I could continue working without breaking my trend of thought. Within three hours, I had six footnoted pages ready and was well on my way. It was, therefore, with no guilt whatsoever that I could goof off for the rest of the day and spend it as the whim took me.
          One quick shower later, I had dressed and was out the door heading for Stepney Green Tube station to take the District Line to Victoria from where I changed to the Victoria Line to get off at Vauxhall--for it was at Vauxhall that I had my brunch appointment.

Brunch with A Very Dear Newly-Married Couple:
     Edward is the son of my dear friends Cynthia and Michael. Very recently, he married a lovely girl named Lavanya and had moved into her beautiful flat right outside Vauxhall Bridge. Their location could not have been more appealing. I was meeting them for the first time since their wedding and was very excited to discover that Edward's parents were also invited. I had about an hour catching up with the newly-weds before Michael and Cynthia arrived.
     Brunch was soon served--and my young friends had a superb spread laid out most enticingly for us. There was couscous studded with raisins and olives, dolmas (Greek vine leaves stuffed with rice), a salad made with mixed greens and mozarella cheese, a selection of cheeses, tomato bruschetta (brought by Cynthia), olives with feta cheese, three bean salad, falafel, crispy baguette--everything was vegetarian (as Lav is vegetarian) but so delicious. In the cozy company of these lovely young people with whom I have a special rapport, time flew. It was about 2. 30 when we left St. George's Wharf--a massive complex of apartment buildings overlooking the Thames. We had the most pleasant time and I look forward to seeing them again soon.

Off to Canary Wharf for A Country Music Festival:    
     My friends got tired just listening to my plans for the rest of the day: I traveled West from my home in Bethnal Green to Vauxhall. From Vauxhall, I would tube it back East to Canary Wharf. Later in the evening, I would travel west again to the Royal Albert Hall for the BBC Proms and at the end of the day, I would travel east again back home to Bethnal Green. Only I did not think I was being crazy. All I thought I was doing was ticking off items on my Bucket List and, in the process, making the most of every second of a splendid Saturday.
     So, when I arrived at Canada Square Park at Canary Wharf, the glass and concrete jungle on the curve of the Thames that now houses London's financial district, there was a substantial sprinkling of country music fans--all assembled on green plastic ground squares to participate in a free concert entitled 'Nashville Meets London'. British and American country musicians would be featured over the next two days playing some of their own compositions as well as country classics. By the utter grace of God, I found myself a corner seat on a bench complete with broad arm rest! This eliminated my having to squat down on the grass--as position I am no longer flexible enough to achieve--not without suffering the severe result of such contortions the next day! Most people had made a picnic of it with chilled wine, beer, cheese and strawberries in evidence on the grass. There were also several of my own countrymen in sight--wearing Stetsons and star-spangled waistcoats to proclaim their national allegiance.
     The music was great. When I arrived at 3. 30 pm, a York-based UK group called 'Pauper Kings' were just about to start their set. They were superb--having just arrived from a trip to Nashville, Tennessee, they were bursting with inspiration and their compositions reflected it. After a whole hour,  an African-American singer took the mike. She was sultry and soulful--a very different sound from Pauper Kings--but her voice was compelling. I listened to her for about 20 minutes and then decided to move on as I had an important item on my agenda--and I did not want to miss it.

Off to the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall:
     The BBC Proms are an essential feature of London's summer 'season'. I had never attended and was keen to be a part of at least one performance. From the end of July until early September, every single evening, the BBC presents classical music at the Royal Albert Hall--itself one of my favorite buildings in the city of London. Although a few years ago, Chriselle and I had taken a guided tour of the building, I had never attended a performance there--and I could not wait to do so!
     Day Tickets for each evening's performances are available for 6 pounds each but the queue is so long, it has to be seen to be believed. Having arrived at 6. 15 pm, I was in despair, fully convinced that I was not getting in. In the queue that snaked all the way down the steps of the grand rotunda of a building, I made friends with a man named Jonathan and a woman named Pru (short for Prudence). They basically gave me the low down on the procedure for obtaining tickets and Jonathan who described himself as a "Prom Junkie" certainly knew the ropes. By 6. 50, we were in the hall, paying for our tickets (cash only) and taking our positions in the Arena--the standing space in front of the stage. The alternative position is way up high in the Gallery where standees have the opportunity to look down upon the stage from 'nose-bleed' heights. The protocol is informal and if, at any stage, you feel tired, you are welcome to sit (or even lie down) on the floor.
     Although it is customary to listen to some of the world's best classical musicians during the Proms, this evening it was a Big Band in attendance--The John Wilson Orchestra playing the music of George Gershwin. I had lucked out mightily. Entitled 'George Gershwin Rediscovered', the program featuring a fulsome orchestra whose rendition of favorites were well known to the packed audience seated on five circular tiers in the grand environs of the Royal Albert Hall whose acoustics are awesome.
     And so it was that I ticked two items off my Bucket List: I attended the Proms and I attended a concert at the Royal Albert Hall where some of the world's most talented and most famous people have performed. It was not just the music that was stirring--it was the entire atmosphere: the palpable excitement of the crowd, the terrific lighting, the stage and sound quality, the virtuosity of the performers, the style and substance of the conductor--and, of course, Gershwin's incredible music. During the 15 minutes intermission, when most people piled out for a beer, I got to know my new friends a bit more and hope very much to see them again as we exchanged contact details. The Prom queues are famous for nurturing friendships--and I hope I nurtured some this evening.
          
Home for Dinner and Bed:
     Although the show was supposed to go on till 9.20 pm, I left at 9.00 pm after thoroughly enjoying myself all evening. I was not sure how long it would take to get home and I did not want to be out on the street alone too late at night. Taking a No. 10 bus from across the Hall (after I had admired the superbly illuminated Albert Memorial in Hyde Park), I hopped off at Marble Arch and got the Central Line Tube straight home to Bethnal Green--it took less than 20 minutes--and right outside the station, there was the bus waiting to drop me off literally at my doorstep. At ten minutes to ten, I was walking through my door, organizing some dinner for myself (rice with Chicken Tikka Masala and Cauliflower) and getting myself ready for bed.
     Because tomorrow I have another fully planned day--church, then a trip to Kent to visit Chartwell, country home of Winston Churchill, I intend to set an alarm for myself.
     I went to bed satisfied at the fact that the day brought a happy combination of fruitful work, reunions with fond friends and the most abundant music--almost all of it for free.
    How fortunate am I?
     Until tomorrow, cheerio...

Today was All About Therapy--Retail Therapy!!!

Monday, January 19, 2015
London


Jetlag still has control over my life; but when it paid a 3. 15 am Wake-Up Call, it was decidedly better than the previous night's--2. 15 am. I used time creatively once again to update my blog and scour the Web for suggestions on What To Do. My trusted guides for Secret London and Key to London's Secrets were insistent about a visit to the West side of Highgate Cemetery and having Been There but Done Only The East Side, a few years ago, I was happy to comply. Accordingly, I went online, scored a ticket for the guided tour beginning at 1. 45 today and given by Friends of Highgate Cemetery (as the West side, supposedly the far more interesting one) is only open to visitors on guided tours.


Then, my young friend Jonas, all of seven years, made a 6.00 am appearance in my room, climbed into my bed and promptly suggested we watch cartoons on the giant Apple TV in my room. And thus it was that I became introduced to Scooby-Doo and his friends! All fun cam to an end when his mother walked into our room and shook her head at him disapprovingly. I am afraid I might not be asked to stay again if I deprive her son of his beauty sleep. Uh-Oh!!!


So while he showered and breakfasted, I jumped into the shower myself and at 8. a00, we were out the door, escorting him along Abbey Road to the American School London where he is in second grade. As he ran along, I took the bus to Finchley Road to the giant Waitrose there to buy my favorite year's-worth of favorite groceries (did you know Waitrose Darjeeling teabags--not available in the USA where they have never heard of Darjeeling--and it is doubtful they have heard of tea--are much cheaper than Twinnings's Darjeeling and just as good?). I bought myself an almond croissant and sipped a latte as I roamed through the aisles (please Waitrose, if you can be in Dubai, why can't you be in New York?), then took the Tube at Finchely Road back home for two stops.
When my groceries were safely deposited back home, I had my second breakfast: Waitrose's Fruit and Nut Muesli with Honey-Vanilla Yoghurt and the,n in half an hour, I was out the door myself and ready to hit the sales.


Disappointments Galore at Posh Stores:
Only I had arrived in London too late this year, you see--all so-called post-Christmas sales ended on Saturday evening, it appears. Arriving at Green Park station, I strode past the Ritz and into Fortnum's hoping to find some of its famed goodies on sale--only to find Nothing. And I mean Nada. As a 14 came sailing down Picaadilly, on I hopped thinking Harrods has never let me down. But when I inquired inside, Madam was icily informed that the sale ended two days ago! Darn and Blast! Still, I bet there was some dregs still to be had. Somewhat inspired, I asked for the Souvenir section--and as I rode the escalators past all the heads of Nefertiti smiling down on me and spying the new sculpture of Diana and Dodi and the soaring seagull in the basement, provocatively entitled "Innocent Victims" , I arrived at the third floor where my eyes alighted on Christmas Pudding--not just any pudding, mind you, but luxury ones sold in the signature Harrod's ceramic pudding bowls. Yes!!!! They were heavy as sin and would be a pain to haul across the pond, but still. It had not been a worthless journey.


Finally! On Carnaby Street:
Back on the Tube , I headed for Soho and the arching signs of Carnaby Street which I had never seen--because I had never been there! Off at Oxford Circus on a particularly chilly day, I was grateful for my layers of cashmere, when my eyes alighted on Liberty of London--another iconic store famed for its pretty cotton printed fabrics and its Tudor design. Well, although I had intentions to buy nothing, how could I resist? It was worth the thrill alone of riding in those linen-fold wooden pannelled lifts alone. So off I sped to the top floor where the last remnant items of their sale are still on display. Slim pickin's, everywhere, I thought, disappointedly.


A few minutes later, I was striding out the chocolate shop and right on to Carnaby Street and there they were--those arched signed soaring high above the street and saying Welcome to Carnaby Street. I had a wander all the while becoming increasingly aware of the weight on my shoulders for en route, I had also found a Boots pharmacy from where I cleaned out a sale on Dove Silken Glow Body Wash--perhaps the best buy ever in toiletries and the only hand soap you will ever find in our bathrooms back home. With its sophisticated French perfume you might think you had paid a small fortune each time you squirt a bit on your palm. You would be wrong. One Mission Well Accomplished!


More Disappointments in Store:
The idea was to deposit my loaded sack back home on Abbey Road and find transport to Highgate for my 1. 45 pm tour. But although the spirit was willing, the flesh succumbed to jetlag; and still cold-clogged, sleep-deprived me felt a bit light-headed as I left my flat to try to find my way there. Not being so familiar with North London and the network of Tubes and buses there, I made some terrible mistakes as I followed maps (no GPS on my internet once I step out of the house, remember?) and before I knew it, I was at Swiss Cottage trying to find a cab to get me there on time. No such luck! Not a cab was in sight as I trudged along and bus drivers are nowhere as helpful as they once used to be--they seemed never to have heard of Highgate Cemetery and certainly did not know how to point me in the next direction. I was tired and sleepy and frustrated and knew I could not get there on time. It was time for Plan B.


More Retail Therapy on Elizabeth Street:
I had stopped to fix myself a sandwich when home and it was on a Green Park bench back in the city, watched by crafty pigeons and craftier squirrels, that I ate it and gave myself a bit of a rest. Then, I was on the Tube again and headed to Sloan Square and Elizabeth Street to indulge in a treat for which I had waited a very long time--15 months to be precise: being introduced to Jo Loves, the new avatar of my favorite perfumier, Jo Malone. She opened her one and only store exactly one month after I last left  London the last time and the Number One item on my agenda was a visit to her store for an introduction to her new line.


In the able hands of Michael, I had my skin painted with brushes laden with body creme. Strips of card were sprayed with her new works of sensual art: Pomelo, Green Orange and Coriander, A Shot of Sweet Peas, Pink Vetiver (my favorite), A Shot of Thai Lime over Mango. Ceramic Tagines gave me the experience of stepping into a fragrant steaming bath--Jo calls it caviar for the bath tube. Being the expert marketer she is, she would. They went on and on. Inspired by her travels (in Thailand, in New York and by the store next-door, a florist, where she had begun her working life in retail), Michael did a competent job enticing me. I had thought, knowing "Jo" as if she were my best friend or sister, I would absolutely adore them all. But nothing of the sort happened and but for two, I was left not too enthused. Perhaps it will take my nose and my psyche a while to make the transition. We shall see. I was presented with sample strips although no real sample phials were given, and off I went down Elizabeth Street which on a less freezing day would, no doubt, offer more enticements.


Off to King's Cross:
It was time to touch base with my friend Rosemary whom I know as Roz who was meeting me at King's Cross for our evening together. The Victoria Line took me directly to the spot she suggested: the Square in front of the station near the Henry Moore sculpture (added recently). I was early, I needed the loo, I decided to wander into the  newly-refurbished Renaissance  Hotel to see the spectacular stairway that a fond long-time Londoner claimed was his favorite place in the entire city (I can't remember who). Thank you dear Sir John Betjeman for saving this gorgeous building from destruction. It has, despite all restrictions, been artfully converted into a modern hotel. Today, its corridors gleam, its Gothic windows offer views of a busy street that sees hordes spilling out by the minute and bars galore, named suitably The Gilbert Scott (the original Victorian architect) and The Betjeman Arms (after the 20th century poet who saved it) allow the passer-by to enjoy a drink and a sit-down. I used the lovely loo, as intended, before making my way to the square where, five minutes later, I had a lovely reunion with Roz just off work.


Laser Lights Festival at Canary Wharf--Not!!!
It was time for a warming cup of tea in the station concourse and before long, we were catching up at Leon over steaming paper glasses--why has London succumbed to such trashy New York ways? Where are the civilized ceramic pots of tea that you could only find in the UK when you ordered tea please? So many changes and some not quite appealing enough!


Then, we were on the Tube headed to Canary Wharf. Roz had been justifiably doubtful about the Lights Show that the Visit Britain tweet had recommended throughout the month of January. But I was the foreigner and she was indulgent. Canary Wharf was not her favorite place, but there were lights and  there was a Carluccio's, so why not, she said???


Only there really wasn't very much to impress. Trees still sport their ice-blue strings of lights but I suspect those have been left over since Christmas. That said, if there were lights were wanted, there were thousands--from the soaring skyscrapers that formed a concrete well-illuminated city. In the park nearby, whose ingeniously-designed gushing fountains sported a few floating discs of light that changed color cutely by the minute, there were some lights.  But the laser projections on the building walls and on the river that I had expected were nowhere in sight.


Dinner Time at Carluccio's:
It was time for some serious eating to compensate for our disappointment and Carluccio's never disappoints (why Mr. Carluccio, do you not leap over the Atlantic and come to America?). We chose the Primi and Secondi specials for 10.99 pounds each--the kind of deal you can never dream of finding in America. And how well we chose too! We had two starters of caponata that were served bruschetta-style over warmed goat's cheese and toast points to be laden with chicken pate and the most divine caramelized oinions. Over glasses of red wine, we had ourselves a most decadent first course and being the conscious, careful eaters we are (we talked mostly about food after we had discussed family and work doings!), we seriously wondered whether we could do justice to our mains: polenta with slow-cooked beef ragu poured all over it (delicioso!) and al dente served penne pasta with spicy Italian sausage. Predictably, we enjoyed both courses immensely but could only pick. Needless to say, we skipped on the dolci (my favorite course, always foregone, sadly) and then we were out of the maze that is the malls and the corporate offices and on the Jubilee Line headed home.


I was exhausted and 10.00 pm when I put key through door (I had hopped off at Baker Street and switched to a bus that dropped me right opposite my building instead of having to walk from the Tube station down Grove End Road), it was all I could do to greet my hosts (little Jonas was already in bed) and crash.


Retail Therapy had provided little solace but meeting my friend and catching up with her is always a pleasure and it somewhat made up for the cold, the lack of goodies to take back home and the fact of getting hopelessly lost in trying to find Highgate. The only silver lining was that the clerk at the cemetery had sympathized with my situation and, through a phone call, offered me the tour tomorrow.


     Until then, cheerio!

Careening Around Canary Wharf and Charterhouse

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

London

            Having woken up by 6.00 am and launched straight into my work, I did not wish to break off at 8.00 am to attend Mass. I, therefore, continued to stay at my computer until almost 9.00 am—which was three solid hours of work—before I went downstairs to join Cynthia for breakfast. I enjoyed her delicious porridge with tea and then it was time for me to start my packing particularly since I wished to see how I am doing with weight restrictions. About an hour later, having sorted my possessions and decided how best to divide them between my single bag and my hand baggage, I got ready to leave. There were a few places I wished to go to and a few places I wished to see before the day was through.

Church-Crawling:

I did the equivalent of a pub crawl this morning in that I did a church crawl. Having found the Wren and Hawksmore churches closed yesterday, I made one more attempt to enter them today. My first stop was the Church of St. Stephen Walbrook where I had the chance to take in Sir Christopher Wren’s prototype for St. Paul’s Cathedral. It is true that going by the plain exterior of the church with its single spire, one would never imagine that the interior could be quite so gorgeous. And it was superb. The inside of the dome is embellished with fine plaster tracery work. There is a grand altar reredos and a pulpit in dark carved wood and the altar, designed by none other than Henry Moore is a solid marble slab which some describe as a lump of cheese. Large powerful Greek pillars hold up the structure whose Neo-Classical principles of design and decoration are simply splendid.

            This church is also famous for the fact that its former Vicar, one Chad Varah, initiated the institution of the Samaritans, an organization that provides assistance to people in despair. They are taught to simply ring the number that used to be “Mansion 9000” when it was founded. The number took the caller straight to a live person on the other end who would then talk the caller out of the desire to commit a desperate act. The Samaritans still do their incredible work today and have saved several lives in the process. But it all began in this church which used to be the official church of the Lord Mayor of London (as Mansion House, the Mayor’s official residence is next door). The original telephone used to initiate this mission of mercy is kept in a glass case in the church.

With this mission accomplished, I crossed the street and entered the church of St. Mary Woolnoth which was designed by Wren’s pupil, Nicholas Hawksmoor. It was also open and I had a chance to take in its interior which sported the main features of the typical Anglican church. But clearly, in this case, it is the exterior design that is striking.

Careening Around Canary Wharf:

       I had never been to Canary Wharf other than to pass it on the DLR train when headed to Greenwich. Having heard so much about this part of London, I decided to take the Tube to get there and to wander around and explore a bit. For the uninitiated, Canary Wharf became the center of London’s banking industry, a few years ago, when they moved from the overcrowded City to this bend on the Thames. The largest banking enterprises are here—they were swiftly followed by the journalism industry that abandoned Fleet Street (apparently, the 18^th and 19^th century buildings were no longer able to sustain the vast amount of wiring and cable laying that digital technology demanded). Hence, the move to new state-of-the-art premises.

            Well, as might be expected, Canary Wharf is like the Nariman Point of Bombay or Hoboken in New Jersey—areas that have sprouted like mushrooms in recent years to accommodate the thrust of commerce and industry ever upwards. It is a maze of sky scrapers—all glass and chrome, but not at all a concrete jungle because clever landscaping prevents it from such terrible degradation. Instead, there is a vast artificial lake, well spaced out promenades, wide open patios for enjoying good weather and an excellent network of transport channels that make it very easily accessible. I browsed among its many restaurants because folks who work here (generally having deep pockets) need to eat—hence Carluccios, the Slug and Lettuce, One Bar, etc. are all located in this space. I could easily have spent longer lingering among its many malls, but I had to get on with my day, so I bought some caponata and a lemon tart from Carluccios for my lunch and hopped back on the Tube to get back home.

Off to NYU and SOAS for Meetings:

            Back home, I picked up another lot of papers, books, files and photocopied material that I needed to mail back home to the States and got on the bus to drop them off at NYU. I did not have much time to linger, as I had a meeting with an anthropologist at the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London to talk about drafting a proposal to the British publishers for my book. The meeting took place in the Staff Common Room on the first floor of the building in which I have often attended meetings and performances in the basement auditorium in the years gone by.

            When the meeting ended, I returned to NYU and spent the next couple of hours working steadily as well as preparing my box for mailing with the help of the porters Mo and Mark who are always so accommodating to me.

In the Footsteps of Carthusian Monks:

            My next port of call was what is known as Charterhouse near Smithfield Market. I had forgotten how exactly to reach it, but by hopping on a 55 bus, I remembered that I ought to get off at St. John’s Lane (one of my former haunts when I had lived at Cowcross Lane near Farringdon Tube station). I walked through the ancient St. John’s Doorway that had once seen knights ride through it on their way to the Holy Land and then I was at Smithfield Market and entering the vast property of Charterhouse.

            The name Charter-house comes from Chartres in France from where the first Carthusian monks originated. By the 1100s, they had reached this location and set up a monastery complete with priory church and cloisters—monks cloistered themselves from the world and once they entered the monastery had no more contact with the secular world.

            Through my friend Bishop Michael, I was able to join a tour group that was led by a Brother known as Douglas Ellison. He was introducing himself to a group of about 20 visitors who had arrived from various venues. A brief history of the Carthusiasns brought us to the founder, a knight named John de Many of the Middle Ages who is still well remembered and honored in these premises. The history then swung to the Tudor period when the original medieval buildings were pulled down and a fancy Tudor mansion was built complete with Great Hall (used then for dining and still used for the same purpose) and a chapel—both of which we visited on the tour. The interior of the chapel is filled with commemorative tombs, etc. to one Thomas Sutton who founded the Charterhouse School for Boys with which some very prominent names are associated—such as John Wesley, founder of the Methodists; Lord Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts and William Makepeace Thackeray, the novelist, all of whom were students at this school. The coat of arms of the Sutton Family which includes a species of dog similar to a grey hound, are to be found everywhere.

There were also references to the four Carthusian monks who were horribly treated during the Reformation for defying Henry VIII’s edicts. They were led away from the monastery (after the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538) to Tyburn where they were hung, drawn and quartered—a really horrific way to die. Each year, on the anniversary of their martyrdom, they are remembered at an ecumenical service that includes the Catholic clergy, in the premises. I was told that a red rose is laid on the ground to represent each of the martyrs who died that awful day. Needless to say, they were only four of the several thousands of monks and priors who refused to accept Henry VIII’s new laws and perished. Sir Thomas More, perhaps the most famous of the lot that defied Henry, was also briefly a student at this school and indeed when one tours the Tudor buildings, one very much expects to see him turn a corner.

            We were taken into the Grand Hall both upstairs and down. The buildings also suffered severe bomb damage during the War and were effectively restored and refurbished, so that many different architectural styles are evident as well as layers of stone work that are different with every passing age. It is a vast space with many different courtyards (the Master’s Court, the Wash House Court, etc). Part of the ancient Norman cloister still remains, but it is in a very unfinished state. There are 41 brothers living on the premises today under the leadership of a Master and in the presence of a Preacher (one Hugh Williams, a friend of Michael’s, who came out to say hello and greet me which was very sweet of him indeed). The tour was very enlightening and told me a lot about the place and the manner in which it has evolved over the centuries. The boy’s school eventually moved to Godalming in Surrey (where it currently exists as a very exclusive fee-paying private school) leaving the space free for the contemporary brothers. Since the place does not receive any government funding and depends entirely on grants, it is trying hard to link with the Museum of London to publicize the place (which is used for the shooting of many period films) and to attract private tour groups to take in its many interior and exterior charms. I have to say that though I enjoyed every minute of the tour, it was tiring as it went on for almost 2 hours.       

Dinner at Maze by Gordon Ramsay:

            I got back home to Amen Court by bus and took a short rest before getting ready for my evening’s plans. I was taking my host friends Michael and Cynthia and Rosemary (Roz) to dinner to thank them for being so generous with their hospitality towards me while I was a guest at their home. It was indeed a small gesture but the only way by which I could show my appreciation to them. We had 6. 45 pm reservations at Maze, the upscale restaurant by Gordon Ramsay where I had taken other friends only a few days ago. We took the Tube to Bond Street and then walked five minutes to Grosvenor Square where we were seated and awaited Roz who arrived about ten minutes later.

            Well, the food was fantastic and my guests enjoyed it enormously. We each chose a total of four courses—savory and sweet--and with the conversation flowing around the table, we made friends with our waiter Naveen who turned out to be a Catholic from Mangalore. The food was really excellent and the presentation and service simply superb. We thoroughly enjoyed it and before we could quite grasp the fact, it was almost 10. 00 pm.

A Bus Ride Through the London Night:

            We ended our evening with a bus ride on a double decker No. 11 bus that allowed us to enjoy the City by night with all the lights illuminating the many monuments of the capital. Roz gave us a ride in her car to Victoria Road where we were able to hop into a bus going home. Buckingham Palace and the Victoria Memorial were beautifully lit as were Westminster Abbey and Big Ben Tower. The renovation of the Cenotaph on Whitehall has been completed and the monument glows in a golden light. Trafalgar Square’s fountains are no longer blue for the new heir to the throne—they spout water in different colors. The Strand was vibrant with throngs just emerging form the theaters opposite the Savoy Hotel or from the restaurants of Covent Garden. Sitting upstairs we had box-side views of the proceedings down below and it was great seeing the city from this perspective at night when electric light added magic and mystique to this most architecturally stunning of urban landscapes.

            We were home by 11.00 pm and ready to call it a day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio!