London crawling

You know that feeling, when you're about to see an old flame? Reluctance, challenged by curiosity.  Confident maturity, with an outburst of involuntary giggling. Feigned indifference countered by inexplicable nervousness. A smug satisfaction with the present, battling feebly against the romantic recollections of the past.

So it was as I boarded a plane for London recently.  I had loved that city so deeply a lifetime ago. We'd spent almost four formative years together, sharing the early years of marital bliss, a new and exciting career, homesickness, motherhood, an emerging inquisitiveness about how the world works. No doubt about it; we were great together, London and I.

So, what would I make of my old city-love after twelve years apart? Would it live up to the extravagent, perhaps exaggerated memories I had accumulated?

Well, yes . . . and no.

Dear London,

It was fantastic to catch up again recently, and I really enjoyed introducing you to De Jongens (they really liked you by the way, especially your Monopoly board).

You still have a beautiful body, and once again I eyed off your physical assets wistfully. Those curves, that opulent ornamentation! Breath-taking. Made me go weak at the knees. You look great; maybe even better than I remember, although that might be because I have an appreciation for aging that I didn't have when we were together . . . I admit I now have a rather personal interest in crumbling facades.

It certainly brought back happy memories to curl up in a dimly-lit pub on a rainy evening and share a gin and tonic with you, while Ned Nederlander gazed deep into the eyes of the pint of Fullers London Pride he'd been lusting after since we booked our flights. I remain annoyed however that you won't let De Jongens in to any area in your pubs after 5pm! What's with that?? Still, they were happy enough, barricaded inside the hotel room across the river, (watching Nanny 911, ironically enough), whilst we indulged ourselves.

Setting that hiccup aside, it was amazing to see The Lion King together in the West End - noone in the world does theatre quite like you. Just walking past all those grand foyers is exciting. You'll not be surprised to know that we're still all talking about the street performance you showed us in Covent Garden - you can still make me gasp in amazement and laugh out loud. I always so loved your capacity to surprise me.

 You certainly surprised me when you showed me your Cabinet War Rooms; why haven't I seen those before?  They were so unexpectedly mesmerising that I was quite disorientated to find myself emerging from the bunker into 2012. 

Your Natural History Museum still appeals to people of all ages and interests, although De Jongens made you work hard for that, I'll admit.  The trouble is, it has the dreaded "M" word in its title, and they feel compelled to resist that. Ned and I are learning to substitute "Theme Park" for "Museum", and are having some success with that approach. Unfortunately, on this occasion we were unable to entice them to the Victoria and Albert Theme Park, but we should be grateful for small steps towards cultural awareness, I suppose.

I was relieved to see that your sense of occasion is undiminished - I love that about you. There's no doubt about it - you've absolutely got brass bands covered, and noone else can touch you! 

And I'm so pleased that you still have those funny tin soldiers with the shiny buttons and impressive jackets and helmets, and unbelievably shiny shoes - I know I used to laugh at them, but I love them really



12th and 21st century architecture side by side

I'm glad we had the chance to wander around the Tower of London in the spring sunshine - your history and imposing majesty still fill me with awe, even if Kleine Jongen pronounced that famous landmark to be "an ugly pile of bricks from the Dinosaur age". He doesn't understand you yet, sorry. But I'm sure that eventually,he'll love you as I have.

But London, although I've enjoyed catching up, I'm worried about you. You seem to have lost your soul. What's with all the pushing and shoving? Why such aggression and anger?  Yes, I've read the stories in the papers and I know you've had a hard time recently - financial issues and all that - but really . . . you've changed. 



That wonderfully quirky reserve and restraint that's seen you through troubled times in the past - gone.  Your stiff upper lip seems to have turned into a stiff upper cut, discharged freely on footpaths, at Tube stations, in the supermarkets, in your famous queues.  And while we're one the subject of queues, what's become of yours?  The rigid, structured lines that let everyone know their place and always made me smile, have disappeared.  Now you just laze about, wandering without purpose, blocking footpaths, creating uncertainty, starting arguments. You've let yourself go (but hey, I understand that).

Now I don't want to seem overly-critical, but I couldn't help noticing also that the black cabs, once a symbol of your quiet dignity, are now emblazened with brash corporate colours and logos. Very modern, but not really you.

And those quirky red phone booths that were once your trademark?  Thankfully, they are still there, albeit as hollow photo opportunities, their functional innards long ago removed.  But I wish you'd warned me about that! Instead, you made a mockery of me, leaving me to face the ridicule of De Jongens, who were quite bemused as to why I had taken 50p into an empty red box. "What's a phone booth??" they asked. "What DO you do in there? Are we allowed to go in?"

Despite my criticisms, de Jongens and I enjoyed wandering through the countryside with you for a couple of days too.  Salisbury was beautiful, her Cathedral surprising us with an unexpected treasure - the Magna Carta.  That appealed to Grote Jongen, who had learned about it last year, and who seemed quite taken by the notion of coming face to face with the very foundation of our modern justice system, although I suspect it will be used against me during the next familial argument about fraternal equity and the natural rights of the first-born.

Spending the day with you at Longleat stately home and safari park was also fun, if not a lesson in incongruity.  It gave sudden relevance to the notion of the English lion (and tiger and camel and monkey).  I am quite taken with the idea of the eccentric 6th Marquess of Bath looking out his window in 1966, and saying "What we need in that front garden is a jolly big pond, full of hippos, and an island for some gorillas.  Oh, and let's put a Postman Pat theme park and merchandise shop over in that corner, beside an enormous adventure playground, with a miniature castle for the visiting children.  And, sorry old chap, could we have a family of meer cats in that space in between?  Aahh, I don't suppose you could also manage the world's biggest hedge maze while you're at it?  And I would SO love a couple of giraffe". 

It's the strangest idea, but I have to admit, it works. Definitely a highlight.

So, my dear London, that's all for now.  Thanks again, it was fun to catch up and I hope we can see each other again. But for now I've happily returned to my new city-love, with it's gentle rhythms, quaint canals, understated bridges, and yes, some beautiful crumbling facades.

Love (always)
The Dutchess xx