It's 20 years since I last set foot in That London (6th Form Art Trip - kinda like The Inbetweeners without the comedy) and the weather hasn't improved, nor have the queues... look at the grey skies outside the Natural History Museum (or "National History Museum" as some muppets behind us insisted on calling it) where we waited 20 minutes to get into the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition...
Well worth the wait though, particularly the winners.
Though we missed out on tickets to see Jeremy Dyson's play Ghost Stories as part of our Halloween trip, we more than made up for it with a big screen showing of The Shining in Hampstead's Everyman Cinema where tea and cakes are served to your seats... they know how to live in That London. Scarier still, who did we find sitting directly behind us in the cinema...? Only Frank from Donnie Darko...
Best use of a halloween costume ever, congrats to the lad who was wearing it - and sweating buckets for his art. It is rather hot in That London. Being from the frozen north, we forget what tropical conditions the south basks in - particularly on the underground. I've never been a fan of the tube, those hot winds and flashbacks to An American Werewolf In London (and Creep) bring on the worst of my claustrohypochondromisanthrobia. They really are a marvellous invention, but I couldn't travel on them in rush hour. And as we were staying in Belsize Park (a pleasant, leafy suburb where house prices undoubtedly start at 1 kidney and your eternal soul and go up from there), I was also forced to endure subway elevators. Maximum capacity 50 people!?! Thank god for quiet weekend traffic!
Still, travelling by road in That London doesn't seem much safer. Even the double yellow lines have been dyed crimson from all that spilled blood...
In the end, after fighting back the sloane-zombies in Harrods Food Hall (sauteed otter, anyone?), we were glad to get out and enjoy a little leafy greenery with a walk on Hampstead Heath. Here, on the third day of our visit, we heard our first Actual Genuine Eastenders Accents. Until then all we'd heard was American, European and the occasional comedy Northerner (that might have been me). Luckily Louise joined me in comedy Northerner mode when, on searching for a restaurant in which to dine, she screamed, "look - a Chinese!" just as one of its employees stepped outside for a fag. "I'm sorry," I explained to the potentially-offended Eastener, "we're from Huddersfield." He smiled, nodded, and replied "Cor blimey, guv - no worries, mate" or some other non-Northern slang we had to resort to our guidebooks to translate.
That London, then. A nice place to visit (really, we had a great time). But I wouldn't want to live there...
