As I had a busy day ahead of me, I was up, showered and ready for breakfast by 9am. I managed to coax Dan out of bed to join me with the promise that he could return to snoozing once we had eaten. The rooms may have been tired but they did a good full English breakfast buffet to make up for it. Coffee and tea served to the table. Heartily enjoyed, with a slice of marmalade toast the perfect English way although by now I was wishing I had procured that small jar of vegemite in Berlin’s backpacker central. I left Dan grazing over his breakfast and headed into London’s tacky tourist central – around Leicester Square – in search of a cheap carry on case so I could put all my new shoes in it, strap my small backpack to my big one and stay under the weight limit. Once I found a souvenir shop that was open (this part of London tends to swing into action around 11am or so) it was easy. I sensibly purchased a purple spotted case so if I do ever need to check it and pick it up on the conveyer belt in Canberra, it will be easy to spot next to all the non-descript black ones.

New bag in hand it was back to the hotel to pack and check out. A bit of a monumental task since I had just been shoving stuff into the pockets in all my bags for some time now. After the packing and the repacking and the checking the room to make sure nothing was left behind (apart from most of the toiletries I was dumping to save on weight. Let’s face it in the humidity of Singapore, who is going to notice if IU am using the cheap stuff the hotel provides? Packed and checked out, I left Dan in South Kensington with a few tips about the museums and headed off to Camden. Now that I had space and weight allowance for more shoes, I was going to use it, damn it.

Knowing that we would catch the tube to Heathrow later in the afternoon, I bought a day pass that covered Zone 4. Camden was already in zone 2 so I figured it would be cheaper. And I wouldn’t have to wrestle with the queues with all my luggage. I headed back to Irregular Choice in Camden High Street. It’s not often you find an array of original shoe designs even if a few were a bit Lady Gagaish for me to get away with these days. Despite its Camden address, these weren’t bargain shoes by any stretch of the imagination -starting at about £80. I could have spent my life savings in there but remembered I still had to carry my bag (and feed myself once I got home). I found a glorious pair of lace up houdstooth booties that will make a nice addition to my winter wardrobe. And I picked the shoes on sale – Dan will be proud. Beautiful shoe box in hand (that was of course going to get ditched when I repacked in the hotel lobby, I headed back to meet Dan. (The Separation of Church and Skate – NOFX – From the excellent album – The war on Errorism, released during the Bush presidency in the US. Most people associate NOFX with a samey-samey punk rock sound that fires up pre-emo kids into circle pit frenzy but the genius behind Fat Wreck Chords and his mates also produce some biting political and social commentary. If you don’t own this record – get it.)

With only an hour or so left before we had to head to Heathrow, we wandered up the road, past all the houses we could never afford, weaving through the traffic we could never afford, into the Department store we could never afford. The thing that’s impressive about Harrods though is the food hall. Just rooms and rooms of meat, produce, deli and specialty items (like tea and chocolates. There were a million and one readymade meals or counters you could eat at. While high end pre-prepared meals have become more prevalent in Australia over the past decade or so, Harrods was a step above (and probably more expensive than a café meal at home. As we wandered through the seemingly endless halls, we eventually arrived at the jewelry part of the store. I asked Dan if he was worried we had ended up here. His response? He felt quite comfortable because there was no way he could afford anything they had to sell.

We collected our luggage and headed to the tube – fortunately we were on the right line for Heathrow. Initially dealing with our luggage in the crowded carriage was a struggle and we had to stand up for the entire 35 minute journey. It was much cheaper and faster than most of the other options. My last couple of experiences through Heathrow were quite difficult with lengthy waiting times and complex visa and passport checks. This experience was much simpler, perhaps because the first leg of our journey was within the European Union and we flew out of Terminal 2. When we arrived there was no queue at the Finnair checkin counter. We had all our bags checked in, with boarding passes in hand in just a few minutes. From here through Immigration and Customs, a simple passport check and luggage scan. There was a full body scanner but they were only making some people go through it. The whole process was really quick and left us with a couple of hours to wait before our short flight to Helsinki.

We wandered about to see what was in the terminal – answer – not much. And found a seat. We hadn’t really eaten since breakfast but Dan was keen to avoid the expensive cafes and restaurants in the airport. We chose a last visit to Pret-a-Manger. Dan had the same sandwich again. I chose a rye sandwich and some soup. We also both sampled their quite good brownies. I then used up the rest of my British change in the souvenir shop – including the purchase of a beanbag neck pillow for the flight – albeit with a union jack on it. On the short hop to Helsinki I did something I had never done before. In those few minutes before you take off I always flick through the in-flight magazine and onboard shopping catalogues. Usually I just put them down but this time I spied an ingenious device that solved one of my perennial travelling issues – carrying perfume. This was a lipstick sized atomizer that you could sit on top of any perfume bottle to fill. So I bought it. And in an interesting twist it had been awarded by the red dot design museum I had visited in Essen.

There was snow on the ground when we landed. Fortunately though, we got off the plane through the terminal and arrived in the transit lounge without having to re-clear security. About 30 minutes later we were on the plane to Singapore. No rescreening – just a ticket and cursory passport check at the counter. (Dr Who – Cybermen remix – Pound System – I was a slow comer to the world of electronic music and to this day I am still pretty discerning. Pound System were one of my fave Australian acts from an era dominated by electronic love ins and big fluffy creatures. The music from this album feels pretty dated now but you have to give points to anything that samples the Dr Who theme.)

The 12 hour flight to Singapore was long (and tedious). And the meal schedule and darkness did nothing to help with jetlag adjustment. It was almost midnight when we took off. They fed us almost immediately and then insisted on the cabin remaining dark until we were about an hour out of Singapore, where it was 4pm in the afternoon. Firstly, not many adults sleep for 10 hours. I can’t sleep on a plane anyway and the Finnair TV show selection isn’t outstanding. I like to look out the window and the hostesses always get annoyed even if you raise the shield just a crack, so it couldn’t possibly bother anyone else. We flew over Afghanistan and the Himalayas – it was daytime. All I wanted to do was look out the window. Let’s not mention the couple in front of us who lowered their seat backs as soon as the plane took off so it was nearly impossible to watch anything, and who refused to lift them up even during the meal service because they weren’t hungry.

Christmas themed activities – 24 War museums and model shops – 3 Design experiences – 2.5

We rose at 6am to start our odyssey into the English countryside, something neither of us had done before. First we headed for Paddington Station to catch the train to Oxford. We departed quite early to avoid the rush on the tube and because we thought we might have to queue to get tickets at Paddington. No queues. In fact no ticket windows. There was actually nothing at Paddington except ticket machines and the platforms. There wasn’t even any staff to confirm we were on the right platform. And the tickets were really expensive – no wonder a Britrail pass costs so much. The two one way tickets to Oxford, about a two hour train journey, cost me close to $100. If we’d run down a steep flight of stairs with our packs on (remembering mine was probably close to 20kg by now, we may have made the earlier train. We didn’t and as a result sat on a not moving train. Eventually we were off through the flooded countryside and it was still raining. We arrived in Oxford a couple of hours later, in the pouring rain. The Hertz hire car place was supposed to be at the station. After some not very helpful conversations with station staff and locals, we decided to turn on the roaming data and see if we could locate it. It turns out it was about 3km away in a light industrial area. Not too far to walk with our packs if it wasn’t raining (and if one of them wasn’t 20+kilos). We made the decision to catch a cab which was the right one on two levels a) the rental company reimbursed us for the taxi fare and b) we got to ride in a London cab for the first time. They weren’t plush as I had imagined. They in fact looked like they could be hosed out. They had a seat across the back and then a metal floor with flip down seats facing backwards. What this meant was that you could actually put your luggage in your cab with you.

A short cab ride later and we were at the rental place going through the longest vehicle hire process I’ve ever seen. I swear it took us an hour to get out of there and by this time we were really hungry for breakfast so we headed back into Oxford and managed to drive through a bus only lane in the first five minutes. On the plus side, given Dan still had his international licence, it was possible for him to be insured to drive the car. Unbelievably, despite ordering one and being from Australia, the guy at the hire car company couldn’t understand why we needed a GPS. He thought we were picking up the car and spending two days driving to the ferry terminal at Holyhead. Even so, we’re from Australia – how would we know where the ferry terminal was without some kind of map? We wandered for a while and ended up going back to the first bakery we saw – Dan had a sausage roll and I had a Cornish pastie – grabbed a coffee, coke and water and headed out of town. First stop – Stonehenge.

The car we hired was a 2011 Ford Focus and it was a really great drive. It handled the highways (and the few hills we went up) with ease. We programmed Stonehenge into the GPS and off we went hurtling south along the highway until we reached the roundabout that was just a few miles south of Stonehenge. The popularity of the mythical monument made this junction a roadblock. Presumably the heritage value of the rock circle itself meant that only a single lane highway in each direction was acceptable. Eventually we came upon the entrance suggested by the outdated maps on our GPS but it was closed. That entry took you right up to the stone circle so the walk was only about 50-100 metres or so. In order to protect the surrounds from the marauding invasion of tourists, the British National Trust people had moved the entrance about 5kms down the road, built a large education centre and whacked a $40 charge on entry – which if you had come this far, you were definitely going to pay. There were landrovers and carts to get you to the monument but the line for them was so long we decided it would be quicker to walk. That also gave us the opportunity to take in the typography that surrounds Stonehenge with centuries of different civilization, even before the stones appeared.

There are plenty of theories about how the stone circle at Stonehenge was built from early Myan migration to aliens but one thing is for sure – the vastness of the landscape, the tight circle of the stones and the sun twinkling through was eerie if not spiritual. You really felt a sense of something – if only the reverence to Mother Earth. Our delay in getting here and the time it took to walk up the hill meant that the sun was starting to dive in the sky which gave it extra gravitas. As a normal visitor, you haven’t been able to walk inside the circle of stones nor go anywhere near them for decades. You actually can’t walk all the way around either – probably because there would be no way to capture the stones without the marauding hoards. It is not easy amongst the plethora of selfies and photobombing to stop and reflect on this magnificent place but if you do go I implore you to do so. Just put the camera down, even for a second and experience the sense of place without the aid of technology. You will be the better for it.

Eventually we decided it was time to hit the road but not before a visit to the extensive gift shop, where I found quite the appropriate tacky memorabilia – Stonehenge in a can. You can’t beat that. Unlike Turkey or Germany, the word tourist added a sizeable cost to the souvenirs and the café. We couldn’t help but purchase the former but eschewed the latter for some good old fashioned British crisps from the service station up the road. Then we headed to Glastonbury. (Everybody wants to rule the world – Tears for Fears – on of my first forays into how music can embody hopelessness. Long before I ever discovered the glory of Gothic Tears for Fears, whose musical sensibilities belied their depressing lyrical compositions, were the band for my darker moments.)

Unfortunately I chose the most direct rather than quickest route. The GPs took us down all sorts of country roads – the type you see in British romantic comedies where drivers have a hard time even squeezing the quintessential British car – and old skool mini – through the space between two bluestone walls (Four weddings and a funeral comes to mind) It was starting to get dark and I’ve got to say Dan did a spectacular job in a car he didn’t really know squeezing through the bridges, driving up and down dales and negotiating the tightest corners I have ever seen through villages and countryside alike. Some of the buildings and the bluestone walls, although much, much older reminded me of Kiama in NSW Australia.

After some intense driving we arrived at Glastonbury with the intent of visiting the castle there. Glastonbury Tor. My original understanding was it was high on the hillside just outside of the town. However, it was now quite dark and we, Dan in particular, were tired after our driving ordeal. The centre of town was littered with alternative stores selling hippy trinkets – like time had stood still here since the mid 90s. Or maybe it’s just that the return of the 90s has come with a bigger force than I realised. At any rate, most of the stores looked like they were closed but we weren’t really hungry enough to stop for dinner. We vowed to come back for a driving holiday around the UK and Ireland and put Glastonbury on the itinerary. From here we continued on to our next stop – Bristol, although not our final destination for the night. (Handwasher – You Am I – one of their ballads from the purple sneakers era – reminds me of heady sweaty nights at the ANU bar, largely during winter)

Like everyone else who goes to Bristol – our main focus was Banksy-spotting. I had a list of the locations of at least 4 or 5 Banksy pieces, including the infamous window and sniper. Unfortunately I hadn’t programmed them into the GPS yet so we just headed for the central business district and parked in a decrepit looking carpark. The mall next to the carpark appeared to be closed down so we went out onto the street and stood near any shop that had wi-fi in an attempt to see how far away some of the street art was. It turns out at least four kilometres. We got back in the car, programmed in the first one and drove there – we couldn’t see anything but parked the car in the nearest carpark and went for a walk. Bristol is an incredibly hilly seaside town. You get the sense that the depressed economy has had a marked effect here ion more than one occasion but that there’s a sense of resilience here. It reminded me a bit of Newcastle in Australia but with crappier ocean frontage and cooler buildings. As we wandered around I mused that Bristol should also be added to the returns list.

Bristol contains heaps of examples of Banksy’s work but they are spread out across the city so in any short stroll it’s not like you are going to find an extensive catalogue. But Banksy isn’t the only street artist here. Everywhere you look, you find an impressive array of street art, and largely, unlike the East Side Gallery in Berlin, the artists are respectful and the taggers kept in check. After 10 minutes of walking we came to the spot I had listed for the window piece and there it was in all its glory. Now I am often one to shy away from lengthy waits to see famous paintings in galleries but this is different. A canvas painted by an artist is then bought – the artist wouldn’t usually have any input into where or if it’s hung or even if it is lumbered by an overpowering gilded frame. In contrast the sense of place (if not time) is intrinsic to the work of a street artist. It doesn’t matter if I see a Monet hanging in the Louvre, on a tour of Australia, in someone’s lounge room or arguably in a book. Seeing a photo of Banksy’s window in a magazine, however, gives no sense of place, of where it was painted and how or of the culture that produced such a rich tapestry of street art. While we were standing there admiring it, a couple of other Australian tourists came by and asked if it was a Banksy – one of them musing that all they had done all day was wander around finding Banksys at every turn. From here we wandered back to where the sniper was supposed to be but despite all efforts, we could not find it. It turns out it had been replaced by an image of the Queen around the time of the Jubilee, after the original artwork was vandalized and tagged.

We headed back along the road trying to find a pub that served counter meals – eventually we came across one – I tucked into cod and chips (which was supposed to come with tartare but didn’t and Dan had a snitty and chips. Washed down with a beer, they were just what the doctor ordered and at more realistic prices than the designer pubs in London. It was about then that I realised we were supposed to arrive at our guesthouse accommodation in Bath before 8pm and it was now 7:30pm. Fortunately the GPS told us we were about 25 minutes away

After negotiating the streets of this medieval town, we came upon Oldfields House, the spectacular guest house we had booked to stay in. The two story stone manor surrounded by a stone wall and lush gardens that would probably have been more fun if it wasn’t raining, was just as lush inside. Our hostess for the evening was just on her way out for the evening when we arrived. She showed us to our grand room and we retired for the evening. A huge King Bed and antique furnishings, this was probably the plushest room we had visited yet. And the bathroom (obviously an add in to the original room, didn’t detract from the scale. We curled up for a good night’s rest.

Christmas themed activities – 24 War museums and model shops – 3 Design experiences – 2.5 (because the search for Banksy is probably worth a half)

We awoke to another clear blue sunny day in London town. It was Sunday so that meant two things – more markets and Sunday brunch. We wandered out of the hotel with a rough plan that included a visit to Camden Town and a visit to Big Ben. Of course the plan immediately went off the rails when I took us off the main road to find the Petticoat Lane Market. Sounds interesting but really wasn’t lots of stalls selling poorly made rip offs in size 8-10 and guys selling fake designer handbags on sheets. The only problem was that you couldn’t seem to get out of it – through a maze of laneways, we eventually emerged a few blocks away from the train station. By now we were feeling hungry and the pub on the corner up ahead was about to open and serve an English breakfast. So like every other tourist in the vicinity we waited and then wandered in. We ordered at the bar but almost three quarters of an hour passed by, my tea and Dan’s coke long gone and we still hadn’t seen a sighting of our brekky. Not that they admitted it but I am pretty sure they forgot all about us. Another (shorter) wait and eventually it arrived – bacon, sausage, mushroom, tomato, beans, eggs and toast – a proper English breakfast. Tasty but not worth an hour’s wait.

From here we made our way to Camden town by tube. Camden Town station has got to be one of the busiest small stations in London. There are at least five station staffers just telling people not to stop in the station and assisting them to go through the turnstiles more quickly. People with prams, the elderly, the disabled and those with toddlers are directed to other nearby tube stations as the platform is a very long way down and there are only cramped stairs to get there. When you emerge from the station in the middle of an extraordinarily busy market, surrounded by markets selling everything from Goth outfits to tea towels with a London underground Map and when you turn to look away from the High Street you are faced with one of the more iconic of London’s pubs – The world’s End. I was eager to seek out gems I could take home and wear (like my space age Dr Martens ankle boots and not the purple goth skirt I purchased on my last visit that still hasn’t been turned into a party dress yet). But our first order of business was to find a model shop Dan had discovered on line.

It was the first model shop Dan had attempted to find since Stockholm. He had already missed out on the Porsche museum (which I was also looking forward to) and had chosen to spend today looking around London rather than go to Cambridge to look at the British Aerospace Museum. The only problem was when we arrived at the site of the store all we found was a notice letting us know it had closed down and that the nearest shop was a gazillion miles away. (Jump – Aztec Camera – a fabulous lounge cover of the mid 80s David Lee Roth monster. I love a good, well arranged cover and this one definitely fits the bill.)

As we wandered down the road, I spied a goth shop and of course just had to go in. And of course I found something I wanted to bring home – a winter coat – not the most practical addition to my now very heavy pack so I left it and decided to have a good think about it first. We wandered further down the road, weaving in and out of the hordes that seem to fill this road, day in day out no matter what day of the week. Eventually we arrived at Camden lock and its labyrinth of handcrafted goods and infamous multicultural food markets. There were plenty of things we might have tried if our big English breakfast wasn’t still being digested. Even Dan, who usually can’t resist trying market food, couldn’t fit anything in. As we rounded the corner, we found a stall of interesting T-shirts and found an even cooler Star Wars one than the one I had lost in Germany – it had a Star Wars walker being constructed out of tetris pieces. I bought it as a late Christmas present for Dan.

When we rounded the corner I spied the coolest shoe shop I had ever seen. Granted some of the creations were more Lady Gaga than Wall Street but I love a good original shoe. I spied several pairs that I could blow all my remaining holiday on but I had already decided to get the coat – there was only one left in my size – and sensibly decided that if I still wanted the shoes, I could do a mad dash to grab them on our return to London when I only had to carry my pack to the airport. My coat was our last stop in Camden but that of course meant I had to carry it around for the rest of the day – it had got too warm for a winter coat.

We headed back to the Thames to continue our sightseeing adventure. We walked along the foreshore to London Bridge and the houses of parliament. On my last trip here I had walked along the southern shore past the London Eye to get here. It turns out there was a Second World War Memorial of sorts that I missed last time. Lots of shots of Big Ben and Westminster Abbey later, including recreating my Big Ben London Eye selfie, we wandered into the park in the square these buildings faced. There are quite a few statues of famous leaders in the square which I hadn’t previously paid much attention to. The statues included Nelson Mandela, which was covered in flowers, becoming a makeshift shrine to probably one of the most important leaders of the last half century. Just like the fall of the Berlin Wall, the release of Nelson Mandela and the end of apartheid in South Africa is one of the biggest political events that occurred in my lifetime. When I was a teenager there was a constant protest outside the South African High Commission in my home town, a hugely controversial rogue cricket tour and a world wide movement to free Mandela from the prison where he had spent the majority of his adult life. It makes me feel old to think these events happened while I was a teenager but at the same time it reminds me there are some things that have happened in the last three decades to improve equality in the world. (Cherub Rock – The Smashing Pumpkins – one of my two fave Pumpkins tracks, the layers of sound in this track make me think of being rugged up on a cold winter’s night. Some tracks are summer songs and some winter – this is definitely, and appropriately, the latter.)

From musing over the enigmatic leader who lead revolutionary change in South Africa, we headed to the home of our own head of state, Buckingham Palace which reminded me of two things – 1) how we don’t have much to crow about seeing as equality for our own Indigenous peoples was only made law about 30 years before south Africa and that we as yet haven’t had an Indigenous Prime Minister 2) How even without a massive revolution, we are too gutless to change our own system of Government to reflect the independence of our nation. Having said all that, Buckingham Palace is worth a visit, if only to see the Beefeaters and Hyde Park.

As we left the Houses of Parliament, we pied a man and his son having their photo taken in what is probably one of only a few remaining red phone boxes in London. It is peculiar to think of such a mundane object as a phone box being the subject of a photo like this no matter how iconic the phone boxes are. Telstra phone boxes are also pretty rare these days. The one up the road from my old house where I phoned boyfriends from is long gone. Maybe a photo project is needed. We wandered just up the road until we spied the edge of St James Park., which to Dan’s great delight was filled with birds. Fortunately they were the type that didn’t put me in a fluster – geese, swans and ducks.

We wandered through the park, greeting our new winged friends until we arrived at Buckingham Palace. There was no changing of the guard, which I had just missed last time. While there were still plenty of visitors, this time I could actually get a look past the steel and gold laced gates into the palace forecourt, which allowed me a glimpse of the front door and the beefeater guarding it. The guard was quite a bit more portly than I was expecting – the kind you see in a comedy rather than a James Bond flick. And he was wearing a long grey coat instead of the traditional red coat. We wandered back along The Mall and then decided to head for Soho and Covent Garden, only a short stroll away through London’s real Monopoly Board past places such as Pall Mall, Regent Street and Piccadilly Circus. The first part of the journey took us past a series of very classy looking restaurants making us just a little bit hungry. Further on we passed the massive M&Ms shop which just made us even hungrier. There was even a Christmas Market (more of a fun fair) but we were a bit over Christmas Markets (unsurprising as it was now almost a week after Christmas. (Barflies at the Beach – Royal Crown Revue – one of a number of new style swing bands from the mid to late 90s. Even my fave cartoon, Daria had a swing themed episode.)

Wandering past the ticket booths in Soho and Covent Garden, I floated the idea of a show – the Book of Mormon and Spamalot were still running – but we were both pretty tired and Dan isn’t really that fond of shows. I suggested Pret a Manger as a good spot for a late lunch. And I inadvertently unleashed a new obsession. I’ve got to admit, I, like everyone else who has done London on the cheap, am a huge fan of Pret. Dan discovered their Salami and cheese baguette while I had a ham, pickle and cheese melt.

It was starting to get dark but we decided to take a walk around Soho through Chinatown (which, quite surprisingly, is much smaller than Sydney’s Chinatown). My trusty Lonely Planet Encounter guide (the new ones are called pocket guides) listed a store called Vintage Mag which sold, well, vintage magazines. It sounded right up our alley so we made a beeline for it. It was a treasure trove. Two floors of magazines from the last 80 years or so from Fashion mags to street press and every conceivable niche in between. There were also vintage movie posters, T-shirts, magnets of show posters and signs and all manner of other goodies. They were cleverly marketed too. In the basement they had boxes of magazines that corresponded to years of birth for important milestones. We spent the best part of an hour wandering around the shop looking at all the fab things we could buy. My Berlin poster had already taken a hammering so I thought better of buying a movie poster, despite finding plenty of contenders. I settled on a T-shirt featuring a 50s drag racing poster and a magnet of a kinks show poster. I thought about purchasing magazines but I already have a bigger collection of those than I really need. Yes it’s true – between Dan and I, we are only a few steps away from being hoarders.) After our immersion into the world of collectible magazines, we were pretty tired so we headed back to the hotel to chill out, watching a marathon of specials about the making of Dr Who.

Earlier in the day, I had suggested going to a local pub for Sunday Roast, as it was indeed Sunday. It’s one if the things I really enjoyed last time I came here – the relaxed Sunday Roast in the pub and I don’t know why you don’t see it more here during winter. Unfortunately, on this occasion it wasn’t the wisest choice. Our hope was that the pub almost next to the hotel, of which I had read a number of stellar reviews, would be open for dinner. It wasn’t. We vowed not to go back to the place where we had breakfast that forgot us so we found another pub along the way. It started off badly – when we went to the bar to order, despite the fact we could see plenty of other people eating meals in the pub, they told us we’d have to go to the dining room upstairs, which we did. We ordered and then a couple of beers later we still hadn’t gotten our meals. We even asked about it and still nothing. Almost an hour after we ordered, with me falling asleep on the table, someone finally came and admitted they had forgotten us. It was then that I realised this pub was run by the same company that owned the one that forgot us at breakfast. There really is something to be said for owner operated businesses, even franchises in the hospitality industry. Eventually our meals arrived and while the Yorkshire pudding was fabulous, the rest of the meal wasn’t worth an hour’s wait. While I had originally intended a bit of a wander after dinner or to chill in the pub, I was so hungry by the time dinner arrived that it had taken every last bit of energy so we just headed home to bed and an early start to pick up our hire car. (Slow Dog – Belly – this song like much of Belly’s catalogue reminds me of the Ainslie share house I was living in when they appeared on the scene. It had been a long time since I had listened to new music on the radio and it was this (not Nirvana) that kicked me into the 90s).

Christmas themed activities – 24 War museums and model shops – 3 Design experiences – 2

After mastering the tube to get ourselves to the Tune hotel in Spitafields we paid 10 pounds to check into our hotel three hours early as storing our bags would have cost the same. As we walked from the tube station to the hotel, which was on Norton Folgate Street, we passed the local café, called The Liberty of Norton Folgate, just like the concept album Madness released a few years ago. It was like an omen – one of the things I have been looking forward to on this trip is seeing Madness on New Year’s Eve in Dublin. Tune hotels is one of the new breed of cheaper hotels in the UK- it’s a bit like formula 1 hotels with a bathroom pod in the room. The beds and bedding are better quality but the room is smaller and you pay for all the incidentals like TV, wireless and even towels. But as we booked through Expedia, all these things were part of the normal charge for our room. I was very grateful the towels (which by the way were the big, fluffy variety) were part of the deal. The most interesting thing in the room was the fold out table, about big enough for a 10 inch ipad and a mobile phone, which was designed to be a charging station. The reason it folderd out? Because you couldn’t walk past the end of the bed if it didn’t.

After relieving ourselves of our backpacks, we decided to head out to see some of London. I was keen to see some of the things I hadn’t quite gotten to last time and suggested the Tower Bridge as our first stop. I had ventured to Spitafields on my last visit – essentially to visit the markets and vintage stores – but hadn’t realised how close it actually was to the business district. We strolled through the markets as we headed towards the Thames. There was still quite a range of designers selling their wares but there were quite a few stalls selling more common market wares. As we turned the corner about half a kilometre from the markets, right there in front of us was the Gherkin – probably London’s most iconic new building. In a world where skyscrapers are mostly a variation on the rectangular prism theme, the gherkin, which if one were to attach a moniker to it, would have been more appropriately called the cigar, stands out. And it stand out even more when you see it up close after emerging from an area rife with 19 century row houses, warehouses and cobblestoned lanes. The sun was quite bright – yes I know it is London – but there were bright blue skies and we hadn’t really seen the sun since Stuttgart and it was the first time in weeks that the sun had set after 3pm (Cathartik – The Tea Party one of the lesser known tracks from their first electronic fusion album, Transmission. The Tea Party came on my radar in 1997. Heavy and dark but with an incredibly astute musical quality, they remind me that being fully consumed by music in the middle of a live show is one of the best feelings in the world.)

For those like me who pay little attention to these things, you might be surprised to know that the tower of London isn’t really a tower the way one would envisage a tower. In my mind it was always a very tall structure where those held captive in the tower (say like Rapunzel in the fairytales) were held on the top floor with no way out. Of course in the case of the tower of London the tower would be more like a dungeon with racks and whips and other sorts of torture devices. The Tower of London is in fact more of a fort or a castle with lots of building including some wooden buildings, surrounded by castle walls. The original Roman city wall ran close by here – you can walk along its path although most of the city wall has either disappeared or been subsumed into other buildings over the centuries. There is one part that is preserved on a level of an underground car park. Unlike the wall, the tower still stands and is a tourist hotspot. Like many of the places we had already been, the lines to get in were extraordinary and the cost to enter quite high so we decided to take a look from the outside and keep on walking, across the Tower bridge.

The Tower Bridge, like Big Ben and red double decker buses, is part of the quintessential British iconography and if I’m honest, the imagery that springs to mind when I think of the tower. The bridge itself is quite brightly painted blue and white, which is something I hadn’t realised. Apparently it was painted red, white and blue for the Queen’s silver jubilee in 1977. The shoreline from the bridge is quite interesting. The gherkin and a number of other modern buildings in London’s financial district provide a thoroughly modern backdrop for the Tower on one side and on the other stands a row of very new and striking buildings, fronted by a naval ship. After we crossed the bridge, we walked along the foreshore. Unsurprisingly Dan was interested in looking at and taking photos of the ship. Grey and white clouds had now started to come over – there was no rain but it made a perfect backdrop for the Tower Bridge.

A little further along the foreshore we arrived at the borough Market – central London’s fresh food market. Given what we had seen in the rest of Europe, the Borough markets were far less exotic, offering much of the fare we would find in the local farmers market here (without such a heavy Asian influence. That is until you ventured out of the main covered market area and discovered the cheese shop – Neal’s Yard Dairy. It was a sight to behold. Hundreds of different kinds of cheeses filled the window – beautifully colourful Cheshire and Glouctershire cheeses, delectable washed rind cheeses and the most beautiful collection of stilton’s I had ever seen. The shop itself was also impressive, decked out almost entirely in luxurious warm woods. No prepackaged cheese board selections here – just like the Christmas markets, the cheese was cut fresh to your specification and wrapped in paper for the journey home. A sliver of some of these cheeses would cause me to take out a second mortgage but that wasn’t a deterrent, the shop was one of the busiest in a market teaming with people. We took one last look, breathed in the heady smell of the cheese smorgasbord and moved on. (London Song – The Breeders – everyone else will tell you that Frank Black is the best thing that came out of The Pixies. For me that answer is definitely The Breeders.)

We continued on, scanning for an appropriate (not too expensive) mid afternoon lunch venue – a bit of a tall ask in this part of London. We wandered along the foreshore until we reached the Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre – another recreation of something from the past but unlike the stupid castle, this one was reconstructed for a reason – so Shakespeare’s p[lays could be experienced in the kind of venue intended when they were written over three centuries ago. From here it was to the Tate Modern but not for a visit this time, despite the fact that it is definitely worth your time – the Roy Lichtensteins are worth a wander alone. For today’s adventure though, the gallery just happened to be located at the point the Millennium Bridge crosses back over the Thames. When I spoke to the German lady in Rothenberg who had visited Canberra, she commented that there were only two bridges over Canberra’s waterway, Lake Burley Griffin. There are in fact a couple of others at the dam wall and at the other end of the lake where the Monaro River starts to broaden out but I get her point. Wandering around the waterways of the great cities of Europe, there are bridges as far as the eye can see. And in some places you could launch a paper airplane between them.

We walked across the twisted steel bridge toward St Paul’s cathedral. London’s other famous church. Bridges, like skyscrapers are best viewed from the ground or other bridges or skyscrapers, where their true beauty and magnificence can be seen. The Millennium Bridge is a bit of an exception – while it is impressive from a distance, you get a real feel for what the designer intended as you cross under the twisted, yet smooth and shiny steel structure. It is also perfectly placed to capture a good view of St Paul’s framed by the other buildings on the foreshore. As we wandered through the grounds, it felt quite serene in the twilight. It was late afternoon and the sun had set. We dropped into a Starbucks to warm up with a hot chocolate and take advantage of the free wi-fi. Like a visit to McDonald’s but with something you actually want to consume. After a sugar overload and some facebook time, we found the nearest tube station and headed back to the hotel. We decided to chill out for a while in the room and got sucked into television. It was only the second time we had turned one on during the whole trip – a feat for a TV addict such as me. Eventually we came out of our Dr Who induced time wasting and headed down the road to London’s infamous (and tourist ridden) mecca of Indian restaurants – Brick Lane.

The first thing you notice when you enter Brick Lane is the touts – every restaurant, and the cobblestone laneway is lined with them for kilometres – has a guy out the front extolling the virtues of their establishment’s menu. We surely looked like tourists because it doesn’t matter how many places I go with touts or pushy sales people, I still always feel like a deer in the headlights wishing it could run without getting caught. And that’s the exact same reaction I have in a shop at home when someone comes up to ask whether they can help me. On this point Dan and I agree. If we want help or want to know what is on your menu that is so great, we’ll ask. Consequently we chose the one restaurant on the street that didn’t have a tout as a doorway ornament.

It was a good choice too. As soon as we sat down, they brought us pappadams. In most Australian restaurants, they arrive with a bowl of raita. Here though the accompaniments were much more lavish – raita of course and a number of other delectable dips – including a sweet mango chutney and a spicy vegetable pickle. Our tastebuds excited, we went a bit overboard with the menu, ordering an entrée platter of samosas, onion bhaji, seekh kebab and tandoori chicken, butter chicken, a spinach and cottage cheese curry, butter chicken, steamed rice and naan. It was fabulous although both the spinach curry and butter chicken were a lot sweeter than we are used to. While butter chicken has a slightly sweet flavour in Australia it is much richer with a fuller tomato flavour. We washed it down with some beers (and a mango lassi) and of course couldn’t finish it. (Sooner or later – The Slackers – old skool ska at its finest – they capture an era and sense of place that belies the fact they formed in 1991 in NYC.)

Our bellies full, we took a stroll along the cobblestoned laneway, contented that we could truthfully tell the touts we had already eaten. Dan came across a Bangladeshi restaurant and scanned their menu for the Bangladeshi chicken he had enjoyed at our local Multicultural Festival almost a year ago. But of course the restaurant menu had 15 different chicken dishes and none of them were actually called Bangladeshi chicken. Dan also mused about purchasing some Indian sweets from one of the multitude of Indian bakeries sandwiched between the restaurants, touts and the mini cab phones on every corner. One of the reasons for Brick Lane’s infamy is the quintessential English experience of an after pub/ nightclub curry – a bit like kebabs but they certainly have them too. We thought better of that plan after realizing just how full we were and decided to head back to the hotel and crash out.

Christmas themed activities – 24 War museums and model shops – 3 Design experiences – 2