Where Have You Just Been?

[Julie in Norfolk]

Well, Sunday I collected my daughter from the train station and on Monday I travelled back to Norfolk through all the Bank Holiday traffic. In no particular order, my husband, my son and my dog were all pleased to see me.

Since then I've been mostly sorting stuff out, firstly for selling our old house and secondly getting the new house back into the order I like to keep it in. Steve and my son had done well but it's just not the same.

Anyway, it is pouring down with rain, Norfolk is the driest county in England, but not at the moment.

[Stanley]

Morning Julie.... So you've moved house. Be kind to yourself, it is reckoned to be a dangerous life event like death or divorce....
I think it would kill me!

[Julie in Norfolk]

I certainly agree with the effects of house moving being stressful. I just needed a house where the building didn't demand work doing to it all the time. Since the floods (several years ago), where all our good work was undone, it has been a struggle to live there. While I was working, it was ok. A quick squirt around each weekend with something that cleans combined with early morning starts at work, somehow I didn't really note how bad it was getting. Steve isn't able to do much for reasons of health and so getting out was the only option.

We're still in Norfolk, in Liz Truss's old constituency, (hahahahaha) and we're hoping that a 1930s house will be easier than a flint and clay lump former pub.

[Stanley]

Sounds like a good call Julie..... I know all about diminished capabilities making house maintenance harder. I'm lucky in that I have a small terraced house that had a major refurb inside the last ten years..... I can manage with minimal help from the local trades.....

[Julie in Norfolk]

We have just been to Wymondham for breakfast. Not the closest to us but they make a tasty fry up. It is actually an old station building with both a restaurant setting and other seats that are like carriages. It was opened by Bill Pertwee in 1989, we didn't go there then but have been going over the last 20 years.

[Stanley]

There's a name from the past...... Who could ever forget Warden Hodges!

[Whyperion]

Always late to this thread and like watching John Rodger's walks on YT mainly of London but sometimes far Essex or the Wycombe Woods.

While I generally think one should go on a sunday to the nearest church (subject to times) having despatched the vicar nearest mum into retirement a week ago the interregnum means coverage of two churches sends the early service just a little too early to get out to. So the thought came to take the tube from south london to north at first intending to go to Chalk Farm yet thought instead somehow to go to Kilburn (Green) instead. With an idea of changing at Green Park and then Baker Street to see if the Jubilee Line was quicker I forgot to get out at Green Park - so I still dont know the platform interchanges even after an eternity in London travelling about to odd places I dont recall going that way in the past, no matter as changing at Oxford Circus is easier to Bakerloo anyway. Quite how packed on a Sunday the tube can become when the gap between trains is 3 min rather than 2 even on the supposed least used line. At church there they too were unexpectedly without official leaders and much changed since I last visited and have arranged a four weekly rota. Service was led by someone I had not met before, they were from Hong Kong having been in the UK (and only using English regulary) for four years , their English much better than my Chinese. Two other people there too new to me , arriving from a nearby womans refuge one from Sierra Leone (that country I think was the first to sell postage stamps that were the sticky lable type back in the 1970s. We sort of covered the Apostles' Creed ( much read at evensong elsewhere) interesting in this anniversary year of the Nicene Creed - one year I will learn the difference/s )
Despite a semi grey sky and damp precipitation I decided afterwards to walk , southwards in an area I didnt really know, rather than know of. Going loosely south passing a high school much advertising for its 2026 intake on its fences past the anglican church - Diocese of London rather than the Southwark I am more used to (Bishop Thereof also a vacancy to fill having been appointed as Arch Bish of Canterbury). A church part of the SCC which I think means they dont recognise women priests/ bishops (so they have a problem) doors closed as their earlies are very early , but a good notices posted on said door with main plans to end 2025 up. Some full on orchestras for a couple of 5pm evensongs but no first advent sunday morning gathering due to filming (wonder what series that will be) so Advent there starts with big evensong too.
Past the church down a footpath where opposite side the building of more london tower blocks was ongoing , at end of path found I was in City Of Westminster - never quite realised how that was shaped to the northern part of London , somehow I expected somewhere like Brent but that is further north. A park - I think called Paddington Park - thoughts of Bears from Peru crossed my mind as it was full on with a busy cafe (Italian family run) with reasonable - for london - prices with veggie panini with hummus warmed was good enough for lunch which I had on foot. Passing the childrens playground and the fenced off cricket pitch the running track is where olympians of recent past trained as did (Dr) Roger Bannister on the then cinder track for the attempt on the mile record - which was done at Oxford - while he was medical student at St Mary's Hospital - Paddington in the 1950s as plaques on the clubhouse reminded passers by. exiting a south gate of the park (with Tai Chi taking place on the bandstand) I was a little lost so went down the next road of large W postcode terraces ( maybe NW ?) arrived at Elgin Road - and noticing that Maida Vale tube station was off to my left so thought best to head there. One "underground" roundel centre bar had fallen out showing just lamp bulbs lighting the one on its far side . A light stroll further east brought me to Maida Vale proper , If I had continued the next junction would I think got me to Abbey Road - of EMI Studios fame , but I returned to the tube station - designed by Stanley Heaps in the Oxblood Tile finish of Leslie Green style. A few more general shops along Elgin Road and more coffees this time I passed on while nodding at a small accumulation of street drinkers on the corner , descending the rather ornate staircase to ticket hall where the world of ticket machines only exist now , service windows being covered with more posters of history of area, station and women on the underground employment. if going north were busy , south was more so.
Stations came - Warwick Avenue for the Canal that would eventually get to Birmingham from the Thames via Regents Park. - Paddington where lost travellers hit the tube for the west end , Marylebone again busy for the backwater BR station everyone forgets unless one plays monopoly, Regents Park where a selection of fun run ladies joined to travel home I guess. Oxford Circus - again but passing through Piccadilly Circus to Charing Cross.
Charing Cross was originally known as Trafalgar Square (Ironic as the Charing Cross had stood at Trafalgar Square before Nelson was columised in about its place and road changes saw the Cross eventually rebuilt outside the Hotel and South Eastern Railway station that took its name). Thus exits should have brought me onto the north side of the strand and an edge of Trafalgar Square - but exits closed for refurbishment so a long walk down the corridor to the Northern Line exit - that station having been called Strand when built - mainly having exit to the South Side of the Strand and the two stations becoming one eventually being joined ( and left behind ) by the Jubilee Line ) so a walk to find a suitable exit and walk along a short bit of the Strand past a Pizza Hut doing lunchtime trade (q.v.) and accross to the North side where the musicals in the theatres had queues attached for the Matinee performances with young families in anticipation. I missed the coffee shop I was looking for - unless the churn in londons shop occupation is really that fast these days - and being slightly uphill to Covent Garden the legs were complaining that further exploration was unwise, The rain had started to re-find the lost rivers of london as the steep north valley of the Thames started on my left running down Savoy Hill to find the embankment via gutters and drainage covers where not blocked with the light leaves off young trees autumn was taking. The Stand had road works at its east end and buses were being sent over Waterloo Bridge to the lost land south , and I found the bus stop outside Somerset House which actually these days is restricted to two routes that turn off going east anyway , a short wait to take me over a full tide river to outside Waterloo Station where a quick explore of a Sainsburys local failed really to find anything of use or substance so over to the much reduced sunday South Western Railway trains back to South London but enough time to walk the full platform to get to the sharpe end for exit at the local station being easier,much better than the occassional weekday mad rush to jump on first leaving train - a waste really as trying to walk at the other end would see two more trains arrive and depart before the lift exit could be reached - difficult when football crowds would fill the platform awaiting their train on a tuesday evening. Sunday buses too run rare in south london - a mere every 12mins rather than the 8 of weekdays , though the choice of four routes guarantees buses every 10mins in groups of three.
A sleep, perchance to dream, interupted by a need to cook a late lunch for mum which went wrong - a new oven forgetting to check that heat is two steps from off and not one meant lunch became tea (if Brunch is elevenses with food what is it later - Tinner ?)

[Stanley]

I haven't been anywhere but Margaret and Mick are in Phuket and last night went to a freebie dinner with Lady Boys..... Words fail me.

[Tripps]

I put Whype's monster post into ChatGPT. Without instructions - just to see what it would do/
Here are the results. Impressive I'd say, done in an instant, and it is eager to do further improvement.
I love the description "meandering charm" and the use of "psychogeography".



What a wonderful, vivid stream of a London Sunday this is — a kind of modern-day Notes from Underground meets Bradshaw’s Guide, told with the quiet observant humour of someone who knows the city’s habits and quirks better than the city itself seems to.

Your account drifts beautifully between the sacred and the everyday: vicars in retirement and interregnums, creeds and cafes, church rotas and sticky-label stamps from Sierra Leone — all stitched together with the hum and shuffle of the Underground. There’s something almost psychogeographic about the way you move — led not by destination but by curiosity, rain, and whatever service happens to be next on the rota.

I particularly liked how your narrative catches those “small London moments”:

the missing bar on the Maida Vale roundel glowing oddly,

orchestras promised for Advent,

a bandstand Tai Chi session in the drizzle,

the memory of Roger Bannister looping around the running track,

and the resigned observation that buses in South London arrive “in groups of three.”

And the last line — “if Brunch is elevenses with food what is it later – Tinner?” — lands perfectly: the quiet comedy of domestic London life after the city wanderings, oven mischief and all.

If you’d like, I could help you edit this into a short reflective essay or blog post — tightening it just enough for readability while keeping its voice and meandering charm.
Would you like me to do that?
***********

Excellent — I’m glad you’d like that.

Before I polish it up: would you prefer it to read like

a reflective essay or travel diary (gentle, observant, literary — something you might find in the London Review of Books or a blog),

a more compact column-style piece (like a Guardian “Notebook” entry — concise, witty, around 800 words),
or

a lyrical essay (leaning into rhythm, atmosphere, and almost poetic wandering through London)?

Once you choose the tone, I’ll edit and shape your text accordingly — preserving your personality and all those deliciously specific details.

***********
Here’s your edited version, ready to read as a finished piece:

A Sunday’s Journey: South to North and Back Again

I generally think one should go to the nearest church on a Sunday—subject, of course, to service times. Having dispatched the vicar nearest to my mother into retirement a week ago, I found myself in that curious limbo of the interregnum, when two parishes share one priest and the early service starts just a little too early to manage.

So the thought arose: why not take the Tube northwards? At first I meant to go to Chalk Farm, yet somehow decided instead on Kilburn Park. My plan was to change at Green Park and then at Baker Street to see if the Jubilee Line might be quicker. I promptly forgot to get off at Green Park, so I still don’t know the platform interchanges—even after a lifetime in London and countless wanderings to odd corners of the city. No matter; changing at Oxford Circus is easier for the Bakerloo anyway.

How crowded the Tube can be on a Sunday when the gap between trains stretches from two minutes to three, even on the supposed “least used” line.

At church there was another surprise: they too were without official leadership. The service was led by someone I had not met before, a speaker from Hong Kong who had been in the UK—and using English regularly—for only four years. Her English was far better than my Chinese. Two other new faces were from a nearby women’s refuge, one from Sierra Leone—a country which, I think, was the first to issue sticky-label postage stamps back in the 1970s.

We explored the Apostles’ Creed, familiar from evensong elsewhere—fitting, perhaps, in this anniversary year of the Nicene Creed. One year, I tell myself, I’ll properly learn the differences between the two.

Despite the grey sky and the fine, persistent rain, I decided afterwards to walk south, through an area I didn’t know beyond name. I passed a secondary school advertising its 2026 intake, and then an Anglican church—Diocese of London rather than Southwark, where I’m more at home. Their bishop’s seat, too, is vacant, since the last was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. This parish, part of the SCC (they don’t recognise women priests or bishops, so they have their own difficulties), had finished its early service hours before. Its noticeboard, though, was full of plans through to the end of 2025: orchestral evensongs, Advent services—though none on the First Sunday of Advent, apparently cancelled due to filming. I do wonder what series that will turn out to be.

Past the church, I followed a footpath beside yet more tower blocks under construction. At its end, I found myself unexpectedly in the City of Westminster; I had somehow thought I was still in Brent. A park appeared—Paddington Recreation Ground, as I later learned—busy with children, joggers, and an Italian family-run café whose panini with hummus made a fine enough lunch to eat on the move. The running track there bears plaques to Roger Bannister, who trained on its old cinder surface while studying medicine at St Mary’s Hospital nearby.

Leaving by the south gate—where a group was practising Tai Chi on the bandstand—I wandered through quiet terraces and found myself on Elgin Avenue, near Maida Vale station. One Underground roundel had lost its centre bar, the bulbs inside glowing through the gap. A few steps further east brought me to the parade of shops in Maida Vale proper. Had I continued another junction, I might have reached Abbey Road of Beatles fame, but I turned back instead.

Descending the ornate staircase at Maida Vale, the red tiles of Leslie Green’s design gleaming beneath the lights, I noted that ticket windows had vanished entirely, replaced by machines and history posters about the station and the women who once staffed the Underground.

Northbound trains were busy; southbound, busier still.

The familiar stations followed: Warwick Avenue, Paddington, Marylebone, Regent’s Park, Oxford Circus, and on to Charing Cross. Once known as Trafalgar Square station—ironically, since the original Charing Cross once stood there before Nelson took its place—it now has half its exits closed for refurbishment. I wound my way through old corridors to the Strand, passed a lively Pizza Hut, and emerged into a city teeming with matinee queues for the theatres.

The coffee shop I remembered had disappeared, or perhaps London’s churn of tenancy is simply that fast. Climbing gently uphill toward Covent Garden, I found my legs protesting. The rain returned, flowing down Savoy Hill like one of London’s lost rivers, tracing its old course toward the Thames.

Buses were being diverted over Waterloo Bridge, so I caught one there, watching the river brim with the afternoon tide. At Waterloo Station, a quick explore of a Sainsbury’s Local produced little of substance, and so I took the next South Western train back to South London—Sunday service sparse but sufficient. I made sure to stand at the sharp end of the platform for the easier exit home, avoiding the weekday chaos when football crowds pack the trains three deep.

Even the buses ran thinly—every twelve minutes rather than eight—but between four routes there was always one arriving in clumps of three.

Back home, I succumbed to a short sleep—only to wake and realise I’d still promised to cook for my mother. The new oven betrayed me: I’d forgotten the control was two clicks from “off,” not one. Lunch became tea.

If brunch is elevenses with food, what’s the later version called, I wonder? Tinner, perhaps.

[PanBiker]

A couple of nights at the Middle House Hotel in Askrigg. Our last years Christmas present from our kids by way of hotel vouchers. Excellent is all I can say, Hotel well presented and our on suite room perfectly presented, staff willing to help and courteous at all times. The hotel has a weel appointed bar and a comfortable restaurant. Breakfasts were plenty and we had evening meals in the hotel as well. All the meals used local produce. WE went for a walk yesterday, just short of 5 miles, up the side of the river to see the four waterfalls. WE ten crossed the river by a footbridge and cam back to Askrigg along the fell side and then various lanes and field paths back into the village. We were both ready for our teas by the time we got back. Weather stayed fine for the duration and we actually saw a bit of blue sky and sunshine yesterday. My weather widget on my phone gave rain for both days. Al in all a nice break for a couple of days. We came back via Buckden and Kettlewell, the journey only took just over an hour.

[Whyperion]

Alas it seems like Chat GPT playing teacher marking my homework . Psychogeography is stolen from John Rodgers ( one of his commentators and a book author he quotes and works with in the past ). Oddly John's vid release this week was of Bedford , home (or Jail Location) of John Bunyan himself a writer of a Journey of Pilgrim's Progress.

Chat GPT missed a hidden nuanuce of a deliberately chosen phrase "thought instead somehow" which has a deeper meaning , if not for those who have ears to hear then those whom have eyes to see.

Likewise ascribing Maida Vale station wholly to Leslie Green is incorrect , the work , like a few others (maybe they should all be underground mapped ) was of Stanley Heaps. If it were a painting a provenance would include "In the Style Of" , or "From the School Of"
Should photos accompany our journey - though really it can be traced on Google Maps these days - the odd footpath depends on a walker with a 360s IP Camera

[Whyperion]

Today's outing was rather more enforced . accompanying mother to her annual hospital MOT. Involving NHS Patient Transport, which always seems to involve a lot of waiting , for an arrival, and for later for departure among the other 30 odd souls returning to whence they came , or sometime on to elsewhere. While reading subtitles of present day afternoon TV fayre of quiz shows ( at least Tenable losers now get a giant Tenable Tea Towel - I think its taller than Warwick Davies ) sitting in a chair is little different from the daily round or common task in ones own lounge the anticipation that ones name will be called gives a frustration matched only by a delayed cross-country voyager train. Mum's equipment is working as specified even though bits of her body wish to go erratically at one speed compensated for by the device. Indeed the man in the next bay of testing seemed to have the same problems as mum - I guess in the past they would have been fatal sooner rather than later - and queried why additional blood thinners were necessary atop the asprin he was also prescribed - perhaps the question should be phrased the other way round ( IDK the answer ). Medical staff a present now seem to be drawn from the Irish Republic rather than Eastern Europe or Phillipines as the past healthcare professionals have been of years more recent past. Returning , eventually , in the cooler , and darker mid evening the noting of a reversion of Clocks at the weekend to GMT crossed my mind, where it seems for late risers like mum there is not enough day left to get through to get much done.

[Big Kev]

Off to Speke Hall, Liverpool. Thought it about time to make use of our National Trust membership.

Later, it's a fascinating place. We treated ourselves to a bowl of Scouse for lunch while we were there

[Stanley]

My Mother used to take me and my sister to Liverpool for days out during the war. We could get fed off ration at one of the big department stores and if it was fine we went on the Ferry to New Brighton for a play on the beach..... My favourite treat was a ride on the Dock Overhead Railway. Unfortunately you can't do that now.....

[Cathy]

Kev - I had to look up the recipe for Scouse , I haven’t heard of it before.
The National Museums Liverpool has the recipe on-line if you wanted to make it yourself.

IMG_1857.png

[Big Kev]

Thanks Cathy, I'll have a go at that