"It Will Rain Tomorrow." England Weathers The MaiTai Four.
Nov 17th, 2013, 12:40 PM
#101
Original Poster
"Freudian slip? " . . . beheading out to Henry VIII"
I'm glad somebody got it.
"St Christopher's Place is off Oxford St!"
Both Cafe Rouge and Lamb and Flag were on James Street. We walked from Cafe Rouge to Lamb & Flag, and there on the left (in between the two) as we walked between the two was St. Christopher's Place. I didn't see Oxford Street, but I'll take your word that's where it's at, so we'll just say that St.Christopher's Place is very close to James Street and you can't miss it.
I'm glad somebody got it.
"St Christopher's Place is off Oxford St!"
Both Cafe Rouge and Lamb and Flag were on James Street. We walked from Cafe Rouge to Lamb & Flag, and there on the left (in between the two) as we walked between the two was St. Christopher's Place. I didn't see Oxford Street, but I'll take your word that's where it's at, so we'll just say that St.Christopher's Place is very close to James Street and you can't miss it.
. I love that area!
Nov 18th, 2013, 03:44 AM
#106
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For what it's worth, I completely agree about the Churchill Exhibition in the Cabinet War Rooms. So much interesting material that is SO badly laid out (and badly lit too). They really need to re-think it to make it more coherent.
That said, it's still well worth a visit. The Cabinet War Rooms are absolutely fascinating.
That said, it's still well worth a visit. The Cabinet War Rooms are absolutely fascinating.
Nov 18th, 2013, 07:11 AM
#109
"That's a restaurant, not a typical chippie"
Ah yes, from the website the Sea Shell seems to be a fish restaurant, not a chippie. If you want authentic fish and chips, you should be eating in a fish and chip shop, not a restaurant. It would be cheaper, too!
Ah yes, from the website the Sea Shell seems to be a fish restaurant, not a chippie. If you want authentic fish and chips, you should be eating in a fish and chip shop, not a restaurant. It would be cheaper, too!
Nov 18th, 2013, 09:00 AM
#110
Original Poster
I think I should clarify a bit. The fish & chips at Sea Shell of Lisson Grove were very good (only the fish pie got a thumbs down). It was just too hot in there and too bright (not really a big deal...just a casual observation), but I would recommend the fish & chips. I don't want to give the place a bad rap when it doesn't deserve one.
Nov 18th, 2013, 09:04 AM
#111
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<<I'm a bit puzzled about the fish tanks. I've never been to one where there were tanks of live fish swimming about>>
My local chippie does. Obviously not "I'll have that one" cod/haddock/skate etc, but tanks of tropical tiddlers. Gives you something to look at while waiting, other than the hoodies hanging round outside.
My local chippie does. Obviously not "I'll have that one" cod/haddock/skate etc, but tanks of tropical tiddlers. Gives you something to look at while waiting, other than the hoodies hanging round outside.
Nov 18th, 2013, 09:32 AM
#112
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Ah, a real fish and chip shop has steamed up windows and a queue outside. Inside are one or two deep fat fryers with servers scooping out the freshly cooked fish and chips. "Salt and vinegar?" Then you go home or eat them outside, warming your hands on the lovely hot parcel. The smell is unique
I recently met such a chippy in Aldeburgh in Suffolk. I'm feeling hungry
I recently met such a chippy in Aldeburgh in Suffolk. I'm feeling hungry
Nov 18th, 2013, 09:42 AM
#113
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Traditionally chippies have amusing names, see here for a few...
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandst...p-names-my-cod
And around the area where I live the best named are...
Fish Inn
The Frying Machine
Did you notice that Tetbury Fish and Chips is on Chipping Street?
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandst...p-names-my-cod
And around the area where I live the best named are...
Fish Inn
The Frying Machine
Did you notice that Tetbury Fish and Chips is on Chipping Street?
Nov 18th, 2013, 02:52 PM
#115
Original Poster
<B>CHAPTER SIX – Coming Out Of The Closet, That’s The Ticket, I’m Henry VIII I Am, Garden Splendour, A Return To St. Christopher’s Place, A Lesser Palace, Party In The Room: Part Deux and “You’re Back!” </B>
We were at Vauxhall Station a little before 8 a.m. and were told to go to the ticket window to buy our 9:10 tickets to Hampton Court. There was one minor problem…the ticket window was closed.
We then headed to the Self-Service ticket machine. We were supposed to get credit for our 7-Day pass, but the Self Service machine doesn’t do that.
Undaunted, but now seriously caffeine deprived, we found the Travelers Assistance Closet and asked where we could buy our train tickets. The guy came out of the closet with his hand held machine and said, “I can get your tickets.” We were able to purchase them from him (cash or credit card with pin# only). The cost of the roundtrip ticket was £7 per person.
After scarfing down our pastries and coffee, we saw that there was a train leaving at 8:40, so we scurried over and hopped on that one. The quiet ride out to Hampton Court was approximately 35 minutes, with stops along the way (including Wimbledon).
It’s just about a five-minute walk from the train station to the gates at Hampton Court, and since it did not open until 10 a.m., we were able to walk through the rose garden and stroll along the river until ticket time (2FOR1).
Originally built in the early 1500s by the Archbishop of York (Thomas Wolsey), this became the residence of Henry VIII, who added on extensively to Hampton Court including bowling alleys and tennis courts.
The loved/hatedOliver Cromwell was Lord Protector for a few years and sometimes spent weekends here while he was busy destroying the country (according to many of the audio guides and docents throughout England). Although he was posthumously executed (seems like a rather extreme event), Cromwell also seems well liked by many of the British people, at least according to a poll we were told about by one of our docents.
In the late 1600s, William III and Mary II occupied and added on to the palace, and the gardens were re-landscaped during the reign. After Mary died, William finally got the King’s Apartments finished, however he never got to enjoy the new addition. He died of complications from pneumonia after falling off his horse and breaking his collarbone…and this was BEFORE Obamacare.
The audio guide is a must for Hampton Court. We toured Henry’s Kitchens, the State Apartments, the Great Hall and the Chapel Royal. There were lots of school kids visiting the day we were there, so we tried to keep one step ahead of the little whippersnappers, who were having a great time pretending they were kings or queens.
After touring the inside of the palace, we walked out back to a huge area that seemingly equaled the size of Delaware. Even more impressive than the inside of Hampton Court, the grounds (especially some of the gorgeous formal gardens) were absolutely stunning. Dahlias, roses and other blooming flowers added a colorful end to our visit. These were some of the nicest gardens we have seen on all of our European travels.
Hampton Court allegedly has the world’s oldest grapevine. Grapes from the vine are on sale at the gift shop, and Mary bought a basket for £6. FYI: Mary seeded the grapes in Chipping Camden for the trip home and put them in the fridge. This spring she will attempt to sprout them and try to grow a few vines. She told me, "I thought it would be cool if it works?" I wonder if we will have to call her "Queen" if it does.
One of the interesting facts we learned was that these black table grapes were only available to the royal family until the 1920s. It was at that point in time when peon tourists like ourselves were first allowed to buy them.
We didn’t know the train schedule for the trip back to London, and when we arrived at the station, we saw there was a train that left for London at 12:54. Since it was 12:52, our timing was impeccable. The next one after that didn’t leave until 1:30.
Arriving at Vauxhall, we remembered (actually our stomachs remembered by their constant growls) that we had only consumed a pastry. We made a return to James Street (restaurant row) in search of lunch. Kim and Mary decided on pizza and a salad at Pizza Express, while Tracy and I grabbed the last table on the street at the Café Rouge on James Street. Most every restaurant was jammed, and it was nearly 2 p.m.
This was as close to Paris as we felt in London, and not only because we were eating French food. It was nice to be able to sit outside (even with the occasional sound of some type of jackhammer) rather than in a dark pub (not that there’s anything wrong with that...it was just nice eating in a fresh air environment). Of course, it was sunny out, but the waiter warned us it would “definitely rain tomorrow.” He probably wondered why we chuckled.
I had a very good beef bourguignon while Tracy opted for the ratatouille. We relaxed for a bit with a vin rouge to go along with the meal. Kim and Mary found us and said they were going in search of postage (yes, some people actually still send postcards) and a pharmacy. I probably should have gone with them to the pharmacy, because I was on day two or three of a little cold I had acquired, one that eventually I would share with the group (always the giver, I am).
Instead, Tracy and I decided we would go to one more 2FOR1 attraction (hey, I wanted to get my money’s worth), so we hopped on the tube to Kensington Gardens.
We walked through the expansive park, said hello to some swans, ducks and squirrels and then walked the short distance to the adjacent Kensington Palace.
Kensington Palace is definitely not the place to go on the same day you visit Hampton Court Palace. It was ok, but it was probably the least impressive of any of our other London excursions (except, of course, for those stupid horses, who we assumed were still standing and staring at each other over at The Horsey Palace).
To my surprise, the most interesting display at Kensington Palace contained many of the dresses worn by Elizabeth (she must have had the smallest waist in royal history) in the 50s, Princess Margaret in the 60s and 70s and Diana’s rather hideous dresses from the 80s. The 80s had good music, but fashion was not the decade’s forte, well, except for my Miami Vice pastel suit.
Kim and Mary returned to the hotel early and, with the assistance of our cracked concierge, scored us a reservation for a return visit to Rocca di Pappa at 8 p.m. Promptly at 6:30, the party duo arrived at our room bearing more wine and cheese. Yes, we know how to travel and how to pick our friends.
A little before 8, we walked into Rocca di Pappa, and the hostess smiled and gave us all a hug and said, “We even have YOUR table for you.” She seated us at the table we had dined at two nights previously.
About ten minutes later we noticed the table next to us was empty and had a reserved sign on it, and there were now a few people waiting. It was obvious that the hostess was just being nice to us when she seated us, not knowing that we had reservations. Why would she know my last name?
When we told her, she showed us the name on the reservation card that was sitting on the table. It was not even close to the correct spelling of my last name (which, by the way, is a very, very famous English surname), but it was close enough to let us tell her that it indeed was our reservation. She thought it was pretty funny when I told her the correct spelling of my last name. Yes, the hotel concierge had struck again.
Kim and Mary ordered the mussels with pasta, Tracy a less-than-stellar pasta carbonara, while I consumed the very tasty lasagna. Once again, we all had a great time, and while I was chatting up the cute server from Croatia, Tracy (while giving me the first true “look” of the trip) reminded me that she got the house, cats and dogs in the divorce settlement. What a spoilsport!!
We stopped for one last gelato in South Kensington before heading back to the hotel to pack. We arrived at the hotel in one piece and only had to save Mary once from being hit by a bus while she looked in the wrong direction. We had survived London, but danger was lurking less than 12 hours away.
Tomorrow morning we would travel to Heathrow, pick up a car and hit the road (hopefully not literally) for our nine days in the English countryside. I was getting pretty nervous about this prospect, having never done that wrong-side-of-the-road driving thing before. Fortunately, the collective brain trust would come up with a foolproof plan that would keep this carload of Americans safe for the next nine days as we traversed the highways and back roads to Salisbury, Bath and into the Cotswolds. At least, we hoped that would be the case.
<B>NEXT: CHAPTER SEVEN – Hey Where’s The Steering Wheel, Yes It’s DIESEL, The New Vaudeville Band Is Here Somewhere, Diver Bill Saves The Day, You’re Early, Cloisters With Food, What…Another Magna Carta, Tower Of Power, Church Of Doom, Plopping our Buttocks At The Buttock, Now That’s A Bad Hand, Without A Kir In The World, Sunset Dinner and Cathedral Under The Stars</B>
We were at Vauxhall Station a little before 8 a.m. and were told to go to the ticket window to buy our 9:10 tickets to Hampton Court. There was one minor problem…the ticket window was closed.
We then headed to the Self-Service ticket machine. We were supposed to get credit for our 7-Day pass, but the Self Service machine doesn’t do that.
Undaunted, but now seriously caffeine deprived, we found the Travelers Assistance Closet and asked where we could buy our train tickets. The guy came out of the closet with his hand held machine and said, “I can get your tickets.” We were able to purchase them from him (cash or credit card with pin# only). The cost of the roundtrip ticket was £7 per person.
After scarfing down our pastries and coffee, we saw that there was a train leaving at 8:40, so we scurried over and hopped on that one. The quiet ride out to Hampton Court was approximately 35 minutes, with stops along the way (including Wimbledon).
It’s just about a five-minute walk from the train station to the gates at Hampton Court, and since it did not open until 10 a.m., we were able to walk through the rose garden and stroll along the river until ticket time (2FOR1).
Originally built in the early 1500s by the Archbishop of York (Thomas Wolsey), this became the residence of Henry VIII, who added on extensively to Hampton Court including bowling alleys and tennis courts.
The loved/hatedOliver Cromwell was Lord Protector for a few years and sometimes spent weekends here while he was busy destroying the country (according to many of the audio guides and docents throughout England). Although he was posthumously executed (seems like a rather extreme event), Cromwell also seems well liked by many of the British people, at least according to a poll we were told about by one of our docents.
In the late 1600s, William III and Mary II occupied and added on to the palace, and the gardens were re-landscaped during the reign. After Mary died, William finally got the King’s Apartments finished, however he never got to enjoy the new addition. He died of complications from pneumonia after falling off his horse and breaking his collarbone…and this was BEFORE Obamacare.
The audio guide is a must for Hampton Court. We toured Henry’s Kitchens, the State Apartments, the Great Hall and the Chapel Royal. There were lots of school kids visiting the day we were there, so we tried to keep one step ahead of the little whippersnappers, who were having a great time pretending they were kings or queens.
After touring the inside of the palace, we walked out back to a huge area that seemingly equaled the size of Delaware. Even more impressive than the inside of Hampton Court, the grounds (especially some of the gorgeous formal gardens) were absolutely stunning. Dahlias, roses and other blooming flowers added a colorful end to our visit. These were some of the nicest gardens we have seen on all of our European travels.
Hampton Court allegedly has the world’s oldest grapevine. Grapes from the vine are on sale at the gift shop, and Mary bought a basket for £6. FYI: Mary seeded the grapes in Chipping Camden for the trip home and put them in the fridge. This spring she will attempt to sprout them and try to grow a few vines. She told me, "I thought it would be cool if it works?" I wonder if we will have to call her "Queen" if it does.
One of the interesting facts we learned was that these black table grapes were only available to the royal family until the 1920s. It was at that point in time when peon tourists like ourselves were first allowed to buy them.
We didn’t know the train schedule for the trip back to London, and when we arrived at the station, we saw there was a train that left for London at 12:54. Since it was 12:52, our timing was impeccable. The next one after that didn’t leave until 1:30.
Arriving at Vauxhall, we remembered (actually our stomachs remembered by their constant growls) that we had only consumed a pastry. We made a return to James Street (restaurant row) in search of lunch. Kim and Mary decided on pizza and a salad at Pizza Express, while Tracy and I grabbed the last table on the street at the Café Rouge on James Street. Most every restaurant was jammed, and it was nearly 2 p.m.
This was as close to Paris as we felt in London, and not only because we were eating French food. It was nice to be able to sit outside (even with the occasional sound of some type of jackhammer) rather than in a dark pub (not that there’s anything wrong with that...it was just nice eating in a fresh air environment). Of course, it was sunny out, but the waiter warned us it would “definitely rain tomorrow.” He probably wondered why we chuckled.
I had a very good beef bourguignon while Tracy opted for the ratatouille. We relaxed for a bit with a vin rouge to go along with the meal. Kim and Mary found us and said they were going in search of postage (yes, some people actually still send postcards) and a pharmacy. I probably should have gone with them to the pharmacy, because I was on day two or three of a little cold I had acquired, one that eventually I would share with the group (always the giver, I am).
Instead, Tracy and I decided we would go to one more 2FOR1 attraction (hey, I wanted to get my money’s worth), so we hopped on the tube to Kensington Gardens.
We walked through the expansive park, said hello to some swans, ducks and squirrels and then walked the short distance to the adjacent Kensington Palace.
Kensington Palace is definitely not the place to go on the same day you visit Hampton Court Palace. It was ok, but it was probably the least impressive of any of our other London excursions (except, of course, for those stupid horses, who we assumed were still standing and staring at each other over at The Horsey Palace).
To my surprise, the most interesting display at Kensington Palace contained many of the dresses worn by Elizabeth (she must have had the smallest waist in royal history) in the 50s, Princess Margaret in the 60s and 70s and Diana’s rather hideous dresses from the 80s. The 80s had good music, but fashion was not the decade’s forte, well, except for my Miami Vice pastel suit.
Kim and Mary returned to the hotel early and, with the assistance of our cracked concierge, scored us a reservation for a return visit to Rocca di Pappa at 8 p.m. Promptly at 6:30, the party duo arrived at our room bearing more wine and cheese. Yes, we know how to travel and how to pick our friends.
A little before 8, we walked into Rocca di Pappa, and the hostess smiled and gave us all a hug and said, “We even have YOUR table for you.” She seated us at the table we had dined at two nights previously.
About ten minutes later we noticed the table next to us was empty and had a reserved sign on it, and there were now a few people waiting. It was obvious that the hostess was just being nice to us when she seated us, not knowing that we had reservations. Why would she know my last name?
When we told her, she showed us the name on the reservation card that was sitting on the table. It was not even close to the correct spelling of my last name (which, by the way, is a very, very famous English surname), but it was close enough to let us tell her that it indeed was our reservation. She thought it was pretty funny when I told her the correct spelling of my last name. Yes, the hotel concierge had struck again.
Kim and Mary ordered the mussels with pasta, Tracy a less-than-stellar pasta carbonara, while I consumed the very tasty lasagna. Once again, we all had a great time, and while I was chatting up the cute server from Croatia, Tracy (while giving me the first true “look” of the trip) reminded me that she got the house, cats and dogs in the divorce settlement. What a spoilsport!!
We stopped for one last gelato in South Kensington before heading back to the hotel to pack. We arrived at the hotel in one piece and only had to save Mary once from being hit by a bus while she looked in the wrong direction. We had survived London, but danger was lurking less than 12 hours away.
Tomorrow morning we would travel to Heathrow, pick up a car and hit the road (hopefully not literally) for our nine days in the English countryside. I was getting pretty nervous about this prospect, having never done that wrong-side-of-the-road driving thing before. Fortunately, the collective brain trust would come up with a foolproof plan that would keep this carload of Americans safe for the next nine days as we traversed the highways and back roads to Salisbury, Bath and into the Cotswolds. At least, we hoped that would be the case.
<B>NEXT: CHAPTER SEVEN – Hey Where’s The Steering Wheel, Yes It’s DIESEL, The New Vaudeville Band Is Here Somewhere, Diver Bill Saves The Day, You’re Early, Cloisters With Food, What…Another Magna Carta, Tower Of Power, Church Of Doom, Plopping our Buttocks At The Buttock, Now That’s A Bad Hand, Without A Kir In The World, Sunset Dinner and Cathedral Under The Stars</B>
Nov 18th, 2013, 10:58 PM
#117
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Coming late to the discussion of chippies, I can't resist pointing out that there used to be one in Putney called Rock'n'Roe.
Oh, and the classic anthem to the chippy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWR1ZQWugDs
Oh, and the classic anthem to the chippy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWR1ZQWugDs
