Questions

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

Today I scanned the next batch of colour slides from my Streets of London Series. These were all produced in September 2004.

Shaftesbury Avenue W1 9.04

When, in ‘Meandering Through Soho’, I stated that the musical had opened when we were living in Horse and Dolphin Yard, my memory was playing tricks with me. Les Misérables has enjoyed so long a presence in Shaftesbury Avenue W1 that I thought it had been in residence at Queens Theatre during our time there. In fact we left in 1980 and the production began in 1985. Here is an extract from the official website:

‘CAMERON MACKINTOSH’S LEGENDARY PRODUCTION OF BOUBLIL AND SCHÖNBERG’S LES MISÉRABLES IS A GLOBAL STAGE SENSATION.

Seen by more than 70 million people in 44 countries and in 22 languages around the globe, it is still breaking box-office records everywhere. The original London production celebrated its 30th anniversary on 8 October 2015.

Set against the backdrop of 19th-century France, Les Misérables tells an enthralling story of broken dreams and unrequited love, passion, sacrifice and redemption – a timeless testament to the survival of the human spirit.

Ex-convict Jean Valjean is hunted for decades by the ruthless policeman Javert after he breaks parole. When Valjean agrees to care for factory worker Fantine’s young daughter, Cosette, their lives change forever.

Featuring the songs “I Dreamed A Dream”, “Bring Him Home”, “One Day More” and “On My Own” – Les Misérables is the show of shows.’

Regent Street W1 9.04

My memory also fails me in attempting to recollect the name of the kindly gentleman who was my boss during my brief employment at the Yorkshire Insurance company in Leadenhall Street in about 1962/3. I do, however remember that he bought all his staff ties or other similar birthday gifts from Austin Reed, the upmarket outfitters on Regent Street,

Brewer Street W1 9.04

visible from this corner of Brewer Street. I took this practice to heart, and, when I became a Social Services manager myself, gave everyone a birthday card. Since the staff numbers ran closer to three figures, that’s all I could afford.

Essendine Road W9 9.04

Both Essendine Road W9

Morshead Road W9 9.04

and its neighbour Morshead Road were in the patch for which I was responsible.

Edgware Road W2 9.04

Church Street, forming this junction with Edgware Road remains the location of a thriving multicultural general  market. The far end of Church Street is home to a number of antique shops.

Ham Yard W1 9.04

I wonder if anyone has yet built on this corner plot in Ham Yard W1, a very short walk from Piccadilly Circus, or whether acrobats have continued to cover the beams and walls with graffiti;

Bridle Lane W1 9.04

 why was this gentleman standing guard over the entrance to Bridle Lane;

Devonshire Place Mews W1 9.04

 does this gentleman passing Devonshire Place Mews still smoke;

Sutherland Avenue W9 9.04

 is the baby in the buggy being pushed along Sutherland Avenue W9, like Sue Townsend’s Adrian Mole now aged thirteen and three quarters, and about to publish a best-selling diary;

Elgin Avenue W9

and were this couple resting the bench visitors to or residents of Elgin Avenue W9.

This series does often raise a series of questions on which to speculate.

This evening we dined, with usual excellent, friendly, service at Lal Quilla in Lymington. Jackie enjoyed her Lal Quilla special, as did I my chicken jalfrezi. We shared special fried rice and a garlic naan. We both drank Kingfisher.

 

 

Floating Leaves

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED

Today the skies were overcast and leaking drizzle. Jackie continued planting and weeding this morning, and I transported compost to fill the hole left by the ficus Aaron had removed yesterday.

This afternoon I scanned the next dozen colour slides from my Streets of London series, produced in September 2004.

Inglebert Street EC1 9.04

‘There is something timeless about the appeal of an authentic rock and roll pub, where the floor sticks to one’s battered old boots and the whiskey-flavoured tang of a hundred past nights of recklessness is tangible in the air. Such places are hard to come by, for the swagger of tarnished glamour is not something that can be easily imitated. Filthy MacNasty’s on the corner of Amwell Street near Angel is one such place. Attracting weekend rock stars from all walks of life, with the lingering aura of countless cigarette breaths, Filthy’s was once home to a mad, mixed bunch of poets and dustmen, philosophers and gardeners. Its gritty credentials include a delightfully dishevelled list of clientele, including Shane McGowan, Irvine Welsh, Johnny Depp and of course Peter Doherty, who tended the bar here in the early days of The Libertines.

 Known for serving ‘the second best Guinness in London’, Filthy’s is something of a cultural landmark. Its cracked leather seats and low-lit tables have played host to photography exhibitions and to impromptu Pete and Carl sing-alongs. Former NME journalist and author Paolo Hewitt used to organise literary nights under the title ‘The Sharper Word’, which saw the likes of Chris Difford of Squeeze and Ian McLagan of Small Faces, as well as political poet John Sinclair dropping by to do readings and play a few songs to the unsuspecting crowd, securing the pub’s spot in musical and literary history.

The pub is certainly ingrained in the blood stained pages of Doherty’s infamous Books of Albion, and The Libertines played many characteristic guerrilla-style gigs here, as well as serving as a place for Pete to sleep when he had nowhere else to go. In the height of Libertines furor, Filthy’s hosted an exhibition of the band’s gig posters, and girls would flock to the bar asking to see the walls of Doherty’s old bedroom upstairs.’

So wrote Jessica Andrews on the londonist in June 2013 when this establishment on the corner of Inglebert Street, EC1 was about to be closed and replaced by a gastropub.

River Street EC1

Contemporary with Doherty’s band, Oasis advertises on the boarded up window of the empty Village Buttery on nearby River Street.

Lloyd Baker Street WC1 9.04

Crossing Amwell Street from there we come to Lloyd Baker Street, where Jessica, Michael, and I lived in 1974/5. This street,

Lloyd Square WC1 9.04

Lloyd Square,

Granville Street WC1 9.04

and Granville Street are all parts of the listed Lloyd Baker Estate. The latter is now overshadowed by developments in

Kings Cross Road WC1 9.04

 Kings Cross Road, opposite The Union Tavern, a splendid Victorian pub on the corner shared with Lloyd Baker Street.

Calthorpe Street WC1 9.04

Crossing Kings Cross Road at this point we reach Calthorpe Street WC.

Neal's Yard WC2 9.04

From Lloyd Baker Street we had moved on to live in Horse and Dolphin Yard in Soho. Neal’s Yard, then just forming part of the Covent Garden developments, is, according to Wikipedia, ‘a small alley in London’s Covent Garden between Shorts Gardens and Monmouth Street which opens into a courtyard. It is named after the 17th century developer, Thomas Neale.[1] It now contains several health food cafes and values driven retailers such as Neal’s Yard Remedies, Neal’s Yard Dairy, Casanova & daughters and Wild Food Cafe.[2][3]

Horse and Dolphin Yard was a tiny mews off Macclesfield Street which linked Gerard Street and

Shaftesbury Avenue W1 9.04

Shaftesbury Avenue. The eponymous theatre is shown in this shot. The car driver didn’t comment on my activity.

Regent's Canal 9.04Floating leaves and seeds

Regent’s Canal is not exactly a street of London, but I have run or walked many miles along this stretch, so it seems appropriate that a couple of slides of this slipped into the collection.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla, where food and service was as excellent and friendly as ever. My choice was lamb achari and special fried rice; Jackie’s was chicken shashlick, salad, and vegetable curry. We both drank Kingfisher. The restaurant took delivery of a new range of food heaters yesterday, and presented us with two of the older ones which will come in very useful.

Meandering Through Soho

Today I travelled by tube to Victoria for a trip around my ’70s home in Soho.  As I neared Morden station two community support police officers rushed past me towards the crowded forecourt.  I thought we were in for some excitement, but they simply wanted to board the 93 bus.

Buckingham Palace 10.12Leaving the underground at Victoria I walked along Buckingham Palace Road, passing the palace which was, as usual, surrounded by tourists hoping to get a glimpse of Her Majesty.  Crossing Pall Mall, I walked up Marlborovgh Road.  (There is no typo here, for the street sign is very old.)  Turning up St.James’s Street, I took a right into Jermyn Street, passing Floris, where I had entered a discussion about single mothers posted on 17th July.  It was near this establishment that once stood Astleys, pipe makers and tobacconists, where I used to shop.  My favourite ever Meerschaum was bought there.  The proprietor found it in a box in the basement where it had lain for twenty five years.  He sold it to me for the price on the original ticket.  Sadly, this was stolen long ago.  It had been made from a solid block, traditionally and beautifully carved.  The shop itself was one of the early victims of rising rents in this salubrious thoroughfare.

I walked around St. James’s church and bought a birthday present in Piccadilly Market in the grounds.  Brass-rubbing was a feature of this church in the 1970s.  I once took Matthew and Beccy there for the afternoon.  At £5, which was still quite a lot of money in those days, I thought this quite a reasonable outlay for an afternoon’s activity.  The two excited children rampaged around the crypt, gathering reams of large paper with a rub rub here, a rub rub there, everywhere a rub rub.  Eventually I got the bill.  It was £5 for each rubbing.  After a lengthy debate with the staff we came to a compromise.

From the church I continued along Piccadilly to one of the most famous landmarks in the world, which had been our local concourse.  In the mid 1960s I had run out of petrol bang opposite Eros.  This disaster was a little more manageable then than it would be now.

Along Shaftesbury Avenue I passed Queens Theatre, still showing ‘Les Miserables’ which had opened when we lived in Horse and Dolphin Yard.  The little waif who has adorned the facade all these years was taken from a marvellous Gustave Brion etching.  One of our neighbours in Newark had, when we first arrived in 1987, seen this production six times.  She went off with another man, so I don’t know if she is going there still.

On the corner of Macclesfield Street I contemplated the shop that had been the subject of my little white lie posted on 29th August.  Next door is De Hems which was our local pub where Michael was Space Invaders champion.  I would take a stein down from our flat opposite and have it filled with draft beer which I drank at home.  The circular window in the wall of No. 2 was to our wardrobe cupboard alongside our bedroom.

Horse and Dolphin Yard is entered beneath an extension of the corner building.  In the room above, Chinese men played Mah Jong whilst Michael and his friend Eddie played football in the yard.  The window to the room where the men played was usually open, and the clattering of the tiles went on all night.  We were quite used to it so it wasn’t a problem.  One day one of the boys kicked the ball through the window.  It came back slashed.  This rather upset me, so I marched round into Gerrard Street, steaming.  These buildings are veritable rabbit warrens, so I had to find the room.  I did this by entering an open door and wending my way up stairs and through dingy corridors full of rooms containing individual yale locks.  The clattering of tiles led me to my goal.  Football in hand I strode in.  The room was bare, with a few chairs against an unpapered wall.  In the centre was the games table which contained what seemed a great deal of currency notes piled up by the tiles.  It was surrounded by Chinese men who met my question ‘who did this?’ with determined silence.  After several repetitions and no alteration in the stony faces, I hurled the ball into the centre of the table scattering both money and tiles.  As I turned round and marched away, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck.  I realised I had probably been asking for trouble.  ‘Don’t turn round.  Don’t turn round’, I said to myself.  Miraculously I was unmolested, and Matthew and I have been able to dine out on the story ever since.

One of the buildings backing on to our yard is the New Loon Moon Supermarket, outside which we collected our Chinese boxes (see 14th September), and whose produce is now delivered in stout cardboard.

The Tokyo Diner at the corner of Newport Street now occupies the site of the laundrette featuring in the film in which I was upstaged by Michael and Piper (see post of 22nd. June).  From there I entered Charing Cross Road, made famous by Helene Hanff’s book, ’84 Charing Cross Road’.  Crossing Shaftsbury Avenue I turned left into Old Compton Street, right into Greek Street, and on to Soho Square Gardens where, seated on a bench, I spent a pleasant hour talking to Sammy, a very personable and amusing tall crane driver who was on one of the two two hour breaks he is allowed in his twelve hour shift.  It’s the cranes that are tall, not Sammy.

This man would sit for hours perched above the tallest buildings.  He pointed out the location on which he was working.  It was truly scary.  Previously he had worked on ‘The Shard’ which is clearly visible from Morden Civic Centre.  Every so often during our conversation, he would check his mobile device for the wind force, since he felt sure that it was blustery enough now for him to be ‘winded off’.  For safety reasons when the figure is above 50%, of what, I don’t know, he cannot work up there.  When it rose to 68% he got up to ‘show [his] face’, when he would be sent home, but still be paid.  He described his roost in the skies as ‘very peaceful’, and was most eloquent telling about having his head in blue sky looking down on a smooth layer of cloud like a river of milk in which he felt he could run his fingers.  I’ve seen this from a plane, but from a crane the mind boggles.  My newfound friend insisted on photographing me so I could show the world where I’d been.

As in many other parts of London a permanently fixed table tennis table has been installed.  This was directly opposite, and near enough to, our seat so that we were continually fielding missed balls.  In fact, Sammy, caught one in his.  The games seemed to be open to all challengers on the basis of ‘winner stays on’.  There were some very good players, the last one being quite exceptional.  He was rather pleased when I quipped, as I rose to leave, that he would be there all day.  I made my way back to Leicester Square station and took the tube back to Morden.

I had planned to cook a rogan josh this evening, marinated the meat, and done all the preparation, but PayPal did my head in.  I spent an hour and a half trying to get them to allow me into my account.  I have not used this for some years, since when they have introduced a new security system.  I had to display the name of my primary school and the colour and make of my first car.  They kept telling me my information was incorrect.  Well, I should know shouldn’t I?  And they’d never asked me that before.  Eventually I was timed out, but I could access them by telephone.  I took this option.  The number they gave me turned out to be an O2 number.  I gave up and we went to the China Garden in Morden.  The reason I wanted to use PayPal is because the free download space I am using to put photographs on my blog is running out.  If I don’t get this sorted you will see no more photographs.

An excellent Chinese meal helped me relax, as did the Chateau du Souzy beaujolais 2010 I drank with it.  Jackie drank Tsingtao beer.