We went today to Borough Market. As I told my companions, when I had lived in London, in Bloomsbury so reasonably close by London standards, visits had always been to get groceries, not to graze (which is not the Gentleman Friend’s preferred mode anyway). So it was practically the first time I was doing as one should in Borough Market.
We arrived just after the lunchtime rush but before the tourists arrived, so had about 15 minutes of wandering around before the full flood arrived. Coming back to London I see it with new eyes, and realise how much of a Doctor Who set part of it looks, with dark painted wood, brass lettering, cobblestones, etc.
On the way we stopped in Old Bond Street where one of our guests has a friend. I wonder how much those flats are. I didn’t go inside, so I wonder also what it looked like, if it was a dingy poky London place kept for the sake of the address, or if it was genuinely lush. One of my favourite flats in London belonged to an elderly couple who organised a book group. It was in Fitzrovia, in a portered mansion block, with a lovely open feel. Sadly they sold it and with the proceeds had enough to buy themselves a full house with garden. So: life in London, at least until the property market finally crashes.
Tomorrow is my mother’s birthday. It would have been her sixtieth.