Wednesday, 1 August 2007

A London for yesterday

Not incapacitated by half

Londinium absorbs guests with interesting aplomb as one's hotel room on the eleventh floor beside the British Library is a completely enabling paradise - handle bars by the lavatory, a seat in the shower, a bench in the bath tub and red strings that activate alarms to call the SAS to the rescue.

All this for someone who just uses a cane? Must have another look in a full length mirror, must be missing something. However, it became clear that the obvious concealed a sinister message when one's check-out survey indicated one had left a day before one was ready to leave.

Not the way to San Jose

Leaving a gentlemen's club and that was not the Athenaeum, a horde of minicab drivers sought custom only to find that out of the 8 who swarmed only one really knew how to get from South of the River to the British Library or even King's Cross St. Pancras.

How anyone could enter a trade and be completely oblivious of the means, in this case directions to landmarks in a city where one plies hackneyed carriage escapes me - they were all Nigerian and more than half Yoruba, it was both alarming and saddening.

It makes Black cabs more a convenience than a luxury along with decent conversation about what really is happening in London.

To the butler, the bottle

Twice even, 805 received custom, with Chxta for pleasant company, the first time, however, the need for a butler and possibly a cook rather than a chef - in residence - is all too obvious as one desired that the waitress open a bottle of Perrier and this for the second time, one's grip of these physical twists fails all too frequently as they all had a brief laugh at one's expense.

This is an organisation that knows its trade and does excellently with friendly staff, prompt service and an accommodating ear, one is wont to tip quite generously, in ones opinion highly recommended and it is Nigerian owned, definitely impressed.

The oil of bergamot

Ah! To Fortnum & Mason on Piccadilly for teas mainly Earl Grey, jams as jelly and Dundee cake, a look in the Royal Academy where the courtyard exhibits non-art so metallic masquerading as large dinosaurs and more eye sores on Burlington Arcade and luxurious New Bond Street as doormen to all that glitters at great expense do up all the buttons on their single breasted jackets.

All but one had a top hat and more formal attire, the dumbing down of London continues apace as chavs blot the landscape with fashion that makes one want to sniff chloroform from a pocket square.

The bus stops hum with Polish and the buses blare out with Nigerians on the blower oblivious of others.

One would think London has a way of exposing the snob in many. Certainly not! Backhand to the titled forehead as one swoons into a business class seat. Bliss!

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