And when it came down to it, I could not be arsed to go up to London until we had to; which meant that the exploration of the old Olympic Park and surrounds would have to wait for another time. Lugging a suitcase, if even a small one, did not appeal. So we planned to take the two o'clock train from Folkestone, then take the tube to the hotel, and from there meet friends in a pub on Tottenham Court Road.
The morning is taken up with the usual stuff, doubly so as it is dull and grey outside: photography, listening to the radio, drinking coffee, playing with cats and generally trying not to think of the travel in the afternoon. Jools goes out in the car to run chores and see Nan, I waste more time at home, and pack my case. I think I had better look smartish so pack a shirt and tie.
After cheese on toast and a brew for lunch, we are ready to go, so load up the car and drive over to Folkestone to wait for the train. By now the sun had broken through, but there was a keen northerly wind, making it feel much colder than the day before. We wait on the exposed platform, waiting for the train to leave the other station in town, some half a mile away. On time it appears round the slight bend in the line and glides down to us, allowing us to get on and settle in seats near the front.
Being in the afternoon, it is lightly used, so it is quiet, and I can concentrate on the usual landmarks I mark our progress towards London.
Like my good friend on the other side of the world, I had made good use of GSV in finding where the hotel was, being able to spot the entrance and then find the nearest pub that served food. There was also a Tube station on the same block as the hotel, which meant if I had planned it correctly, we would be able to drop my case in the hotel, and make it to the pub within twenty minutes of so after arriving in town.
It is just two stops along the line to Warren Street. And then up onto the street 20 yards south to where the curved awning marked the entrance to the hotel. I get the key to my room, and we both go up to the 3rd floor to check it out. THe hotel is spread round a large courtyard, or was once, now buildings and what sounded like a kitchen now filled the ground floor, but we had to walk round to the other side, along twisting corridors, down some blind ones too, until we came to room 358. It is comfortable enough, a large bed with a collection of pillows and cushions, a well appointed bathroom, free internet and a flat screen TV.
Happy with that, we go back down to the ground floor, and walk another whole 20 yards to the Northumberland Arms pub, order drinks and take a seat in the corner where we can see the rugby and see when our friends arrived. And they could see us.
Justin and Vicky arrived dead on time, just as the chef came on shift, so we were able to order food; simple pub food, not spectacular, but good enough. Jools and I have ribs, which as twelve fifty was none too bad I suppose. We catch up and swap news. In fact we met the only other time almost six years to the day when we had a spare ticket for the Brunel Tunnel tour and asked Justin if he wanted it. Snce then he has moved twice, found Vicky, got engaged, married and now have celebrated three years wed. How time flies.
Justin and Vicky have to go home after a busy weekend, and Jools has to return home, so at six we say goodbye, and I am all alone in London. Well, except for the other eight and a half million people about. I walk down Tottenham Court Road towards Soho, down where it turns into Charing Cross Road before I turn off and walk under my favourite pub, The Pillars of Hercules and into Soho proper.
Neon lights reflect off ancient cobbles, groups of bright young things dash hither and thither. I walk past swank and trendy clothes shops, art galleries and restaurants and eateries of all kinds. It is like the whole world came to London and was stirred up, which is pretty much what happened. 
The number of people increase with each step, apparently. I go past 5 Dials, Cambridge Square and from there into Chinatown. And that is where the crowds really fill out. It is all too much really, and I know I have some revision to do, so begin the walk back to the hotel, but get ost in the maze of alleyways; but thanks to the fact the hotel is in the shadow of the Post Office Tower, once I see that in the distance, I set off in its general direction and soon I am back on familiar pavements. 
I stop off in Greek Street at Bar Italia for an espresso and to take in the wonderful surroundings.
Dusk had now fallen, so I press on towards the hotel, snapping as I go, as I did all through my wanderings. Again on Tottenham Court Road, it is busy again, so it is a relief to make it to the lobby, then take the lift to the 3rd floor and away from the hustle and bustle of the city. In fact overlooking the courtyard is very quiet, with very little sounds of the traffic on the main road being heard.
I put the radio on, look at my shots and the evening passes away.
2 comments:
You know even the slightest hint of myself mentioned in the blog and I will find it ;-)
I think Jools was impressed at my organisation skills, knowing which exit on the tube to come out of, where the hotel was, and the pub a few yards further on.
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