Archive for February, 2009

It’s inevitable that when someone makes it to London for the first time, they’ll want to see all the sights.  In his first week here the father in law managed to see Ikea in Tottenham and Piccadilly.  Not a good show on the part of the sister in law and something we definitely had to recitfy. 

Saturday we started with getting up late.  And slowly.  Yeah, not a great effort with our sightseeing.  We trekked the long way (damn you TFL engineering works) up to Borough market and had lunch.  Once we’d finished eating the boy decided he needed the loo and the nearest we saw was in Southwark Cathedral.  In the few seconds it had taken me to get him sorted, the husband and the father in law had decided to take a good look around.  Not to be stopped there, they bought a photography permit and decided to tour the whole building.  Even the boy was well behaved, being quite fascinated by the stained glass windows and effigies.

That said, no amount of artwork can keep a four year old happy so we went off on our next stop; a swift walk through Green Park and off to see the outside of Buckingham Palace.  Of course once you’ve climbed up on the railings, taken a look at the funny guys marching around with funny hats on their heads and chucked a few pennies into the water fountains, there’s not much fun there.  Cue a trip in a black cab to Hamleys. 

The boy cottoned on that waving your hand in front of a cab might just get it to stop for you, and decided it might be a good idea to try that for the rest of the weekend with most passing cars, and cabs, and busses.  You never know when someone might be kind enough to stop.

Hamleys didn’t seem to be the source of joy it had been less than a year ago.  The boy headed straight for the lego and picked out a few bits and that was that.  No messing around, no needing to see other toys.  It’s almost like he’s a one toy boy now, except for the PSP and XBox, but even then he only seems to play lego games.  Obsession much?

Next stop was one of those horrible London tourist shops, but not before randomly meeting M in the street to rescue a bag of sushi from him.  We spent just a while in that damned awful shop whilst the husband and the father in law debated the relative merits of ten different ‘London’ t-shirts.  The boy started out wandering around picking things up, looking at them and carefully replacing them, much live every adult in the store.  Soon he got bored though and ended up sitting on the step waiting.  It didn’t take long for me to get bored to, so we wandered over the the Disney store for some light relief in the form of examining the various Wall-E and Jungle Fury toys before heading home to collapse.

We had great intentions for Sunday morning.  We’d be up at 7, out of the house by 9 and make the most of the full day ahead of us.  Until, that was, we woke up at 8:30 and realised that 9 was totally out of our reach. 

We started out at the London Dungeon.  Part of me wondered if the boy was up to the challenge, but he was jumping at the chance to do something scary so I pushed that little worry to the back of my mind.  He was barely containable as we queued but the moment we walked through the door and into the darkness he started to show that fear I was worried about.  I picked him up and carried him through the rest of the line and by the time we came to have our photo taken he was pretty much ok.  I mean who wouldn’t cheer up at the thought of the chance to chop their dad and grandpa’s heads off with a rubber axe?

Rats were fine, fire was fine (once we’d explained that it wasn’t real) and skeletons were fine.  The boy wasn’t overly fussed with any of the actors, but took it well when he was called up to the dock in the courtroom and accused of masquerading as a 90 year old man called Bob.  He even answered the questions he was asked without batting an eyelid.  He wasn’t too keen on the boat ride to hell, but then it was nearly all in pitch black.  Once the boat turned round and went flying backwards he thought it was great.  He wasn’t tall enough to go on the Drop Ride to Doom either, but that worked quite well because  the father in law couldn’t go on either.  The stayed and watched as the husband and I went on, and in hindsight, I’m not sure I would have if I’d realised quite what it involved.  I don’t think the boy really understood what Mrs Lovett’s pies were all about, but when the lights went off in Sweeney Todd’s barber shop he definitely found that fear again.  In fact, I’d go as far as to say it was the part that scared him the most.  Never mind, when we asked him what was his favourite part of the day, it was Sweeney Todd.

We stopped for lunch and then went over to the London Eye.  Can you believe that I’ve only been living in this city for four years but I’ve still never been on it.  I guess we can spend every day wandering past these things, but never realising that we’re missing out.  It was good to see the city from a different angle to usual, and the boy loved looking at the people below and pointing out how small they were, and how big we were.

 Next stop was the Movieum.  I’d toyed with the idea whilst I was waiting for the boys to get out of the bathroom, but it was going to cost over £50 for us to get in which was a firm no way.  The boy spied a picture of a storm trooper on an advert and while we were taking a pic of him next to it, one of their ticket sellers tried to convince us.  Knock over £20 from your price and I’ll be anyone’s whore.  Now no way would I encourage anyone to pay full price for the exhibit, but it was a bit of a laugh.  And £30 to have your pic taken with storm troopers, pirates and the mini from the Italian Job, well you can’t argue too much.

By the time we came out it was dark and wet but we trekked over the bridge to take pictures of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Cathedral.  I think by that point both me and the boy had lost the will to carry on.  My legs hurt, his feet were hurting, we were tired and soaked through. 

Needless to say, I was rather happy at that point when we arrived at the Chinese buffet to find it was closed for the evening.  It was all I could do to return home and order takeaway!

We have a cleaner.  You might call it a luxury.  We consider her more of a necessity. 

You see, by the time we’ve both done a full day at work, one of us commuting into the city and the other taking the trek out to school and then after-school club, we’re tired.  Add wrangling the boy into eating dinner, doing homework, showering and getting into bed.  With the help of the tumble dryer I can just about get through the washing, but don’t except me to iron.  By the time we’ve eaten our own dinner we’re absolutely done for.  Finished. 

Some might say that it shouldn’t be a problem, but we weren’t particularly domesticated in the first place.  So, the cleaner.

Once a week K comes in for three hours, tidies, cleans and generally makes our little house sparkle.  Except last night I had a problem.  K had been here in the morning and when I got in everything seemed in place.  Like the right place.  The place where things should be before we start to lose control of the state of the house.  So I made my way upstairs and went into my room to get changed and it hit me. 

My cleaner makes me feel completely and wholly inferior.  My dresser is usually a little disorganised; every single bottle and pot was lined up.  In height order.  The pile of hairbrushes, dryers and straighteners, phone chargers and other wires had been neatlywound up and set aside.  The bed had been made perfectly (instead of just made) and the two teddy bears that are usually stuffed on the side table had been placed carefully leaning upon the pillows.

I can’t compete.  Even if I had all the time in the world I couldn’t work at that level, I just don’t have it in me.  Can you believe it?  My cleaner has given me an inferiority complex.  FAIL much?

The city is slowly returning to normal under the veil of rain that’s falling.  It started in the City where the ice quickly turned to slush.  Now the only reminder of the chaos we were under is the muddy snow sitting in the gutters and piled aside from where workmen were clearing the ice, the remnants of the burnt red grit coating the pavements. 

Progress is slowly making its way out into the suburbs but the rain does little to attack the thick sheets of ice lining the pavements and roads.  Throughout the back streets they plot and scheme together, forming a slippery carpet intent on pulling you down.  Along the main roads they’re not so strong; the sun has gotten to them already, weakening their bonds.  In some places the constant fall of pounding feet has worn the ice down, turning it to slush.  In others the ice is weak and a good grip on the ground can be found with a swift stamp of a heel.  For the first time in four days I’m glad I put high heels on.

Sometimes it’s not the day that it snows that’s more beautiful, but the days after when the snow clouds have passed sun finally breaks through the grey sky.

The trouble is, that when the snow stops falling and starts to freeze over that beauty combines itself with danger as we slip and slide across the ice.  I, for one, spend too much time watching the ice crystals sparkle in the light instead of minding where I put my feet. 

Snow. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s enough to bring chaos to the city.

It started Sunday morning. According to the news sidebar we were due some snow that night. I checked the full weather report which agreed, but we jokingly said that these things couldn’t be trusted and didn’t expect to see anything.

We drove to Loughborough Junction to try salgados for the Hub and the weather was still clear, sunny even. It stayed that way through the afternoon whilst we drove to Heathrow to pick up the father in law.

We were early and grabbed a coffee whilst we waited for his flight to land, but the flight only kept getting later and later. Then the snow started, but it didn’t settle. Finally his flight arrived and we left for Y2′s house. There was a dusting of snow at the side of the road, but little more to show how cold it was becoming.

We arrived at the house and as the evening went on we all took turns watching through the window as the blizzards whirled around us. Each time they would start, and stop, and although the dusting of snow became more of a threadbare sheet there still wasn’t enough of the white stuff to be problematic.

By the time we left that evening, the snow had settled in a thin layer across the car and grown men were acting like small children, one of whom had to be threatened with being left behind before he would stop playing snowballs and get in the car.

As we drove further into the city the snow fall became heavier, it started to settle in front of us as we stopped at traffic lights and the speed at which we could travel became increasingly slower. At Elephant we saw a double decker stranded in the middle of the road. As we passed through Clapham men were having snowball fights in the middle of the street.

Our road was an untouched sheet of white, the parked cars hiding beneaths its folds. The husband took pictures whilst the boy and I huddled inside, me watching him as he looked in awe through his bedroom window.

The morning was cold.  I watched TFL hopefully, waiting to see a change in the status of the tube line I would travel on, wishing that with the refresh of the page the line would become suspended.  School was out, buses and trains withdrawn from service, the tube lines plunged into chaos.  But not the Northern line. 

I dressed up warm and ventured outside into the grey morning.  Following the footsteps in the snow it was clear that few had been so brave, not even from within the heated warmth of their cars.  The train was delayed, but not terrribly so, and after navigating the snow turned ice from the station to the office, I wasn’t too late.

All morning we watched from the warmth of the office as the snow blizzards swirled outside.  Few people had made it in and there was a relazed atmosphere in the air; nobody expected to stay for long, we were just waiting for someone higher up to let us leave.

Eventually permission descended and I picked my way across the ice back to the station in my wet and wholly unsuitable boots.

I’d wanted to buy a sledge for the boy but we’d left it too late.  One shop said they were selling bodyboards instead.  We drove out, thanks to the 4×4 and bought one.  The husband had great fun spinning the car around the empty car parks as the wheels slid across the ice.

We returned home and took turns pulling the board across the compacted snow whilst the husband and his two friends launched an all-out snow war.  You’d think some of them had never seen snow before; you’d be right.

They went over to Wandle Common leaving the boy and I behind.  We attempted to make a snow man but the boy felt it appropriate to jump on top of the poor guy, smashing him to the ground.  He wanted to play snowballs, and we had a civilised game taking turns throwing snow at one an other.  I certainly wasn’t allowed to throw a single snowball out of turn.

And when it became too cold we went back inside and changed him out of his sodden jeans, curling up in front of the tv to wait for the husband to come home.