A London Weekend
A fascinating London
weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the
benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares,
if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.
On the Piccadilly
line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of
a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather
than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting
on the Ritz.
The Ritz and
Recognition
Indeed, I did alight
at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly
on the side of The
Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May
1906.
I could never walk
down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down,
standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had
a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.
The doormen at the
Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.
Heading to Fortnum's
I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason,
a walk that takes you past The
Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade
across the street beside Burlington House, the
home of the learned Royal Societies too.
Fortnum's is always
busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only
ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy
place, the better.
Inside Fortnum's
In existence since
1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been
picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly
concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga
caviar.
I have a predilection
for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins
every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight
rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than
33% dearer.
Along with some
Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve,
which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in
about seven years.
Leaving Piccadilly
As I left for the
station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always
took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the
difference between being dapper and just snooty.
He had a bowler hat
on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's
outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.
He recommended a
milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.
There is a quiet,
unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the
entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a
pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst
remaining non-existent for the served.
Putting on the Ritz
A short note on the
places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was
the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand
for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William
Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has
supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.
The Wolseley, by comparison, is a
relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened
in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington
Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade,
still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along
Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the
learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.
It is no accident
that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz
in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had
built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with
its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars",
as the place to dress to impress.
The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you.
Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done
the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen
still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the
tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody
notices the buttons on the back.