Services, Bryson, and little wonderful things

It’s remarkable how difficult it can be to get things done without internet. At least, that’s my pitiful excuse for my lack of blogging and writing, recently, anyway.

Punters punting in Cambridge

Along with my angst over how crap services are here (bank services, mobile services, trying to set up internet with EE services, even the service at a cafe in the West End which took 45 minutes to deliver us the most basic of brunches and, when we went to leave, informed us there were no card payments on Sundays and we should have known).

Last night M and I went to hear Bill Bryson talk at the Guardian’s book club event. It was well worth going. For those of you who have yet to encounter Bill Bryson’s work, go and do so immediately. I still have a lot to catch up on.

Autumn in Hampstead Heath

Bryson is originally from America but fell in love with England, and has been living here for decades (with a brief return to America to give his children the great experience of two countries). He was talking mostly about his 1995 book Notes from a Small Island, a book about his travels around Britain, with references to his new book Little Dribbling which revisits the same topic.

Bryson said that when you move somewhere, no matter whether you have lived there for a long time, you will always be a bit of a foreigner and there will always be things that just don’t make sense, that “befuddle” you – why, in the teeth of hell, do they do it that way? But there are always good things, always the wonderful and different things.

It was nice, on that particular day, to be reminded of such things.

Last week, S and I took a trip to China Town and had dinner in the marvellous Cafe TPT (I had eggplant, mmmm, and for dessert some kind of sago mango deliciousness) then wandered around the streets, finding wonderful places we will return to to buy mocha and pandam buns stuffed with red bean paste and cakes and these crazy bun things with pork shavings on the end and these tiny, beautifully formed fish-shaped cream pastries. It was night, so the woman in the shop was cleaning out the irons they cook them in, but there were some samples set on a small dish in the window – about the size of a thumb, perhaps, with details pressed into the pastry.

China Town

And I was so excited, to be walking around there at night, with a hum and bustle underneath the rows and rows of red lanterns strung up, banners set for the Chinese president’s upcoming visit, people everywhere. I forget, sometimes, how much I love being outside at night. It has a different feeling to the day, a kind of opening up of a new world. I believe the people change, and the buildings and streets pick up a new air, and in this part of London it is wonderful.

And what else? Dinner with my friend near Liverpool Street Station, a quick catch up and meal while she was in transit between Spain and Oklahoma. Seeing the neighbourhood fox at last (he told me his name is Sigil). The light in the mornings coming through our window, and the light over the bridge walking home from work in the evenings. (Walking home from work, in London? How lucky am I!) Train travel – I love travelling by trains – with scenery and weather travelling past, and that close feeling of being in yourself.

The bustling weekend Columbia Road flower market, where the street is lined either side with flowers and potted plants all the way down, and I got the fern for our bedroom. An unexpected 'Natural Park' near Kings Cross with a pond and a red robin and bees. A walk in Hampstead Heath with a friend, and a plastic heeled shoe filled with rainwater and leaves.

Camley Street Natural Park beehives

A trip to Cambridge on the weekend – my first visit – with all the canals and a view of punters from afar, so it looked as though they were pushing themselves through the land with giant poles, with the autumn leaves scattering everywhere. That was the first thing I noticed getting off the train – the scent of autumn leaves, the sound of them scudding on the pavement in a slight breeze.

And this weekend, I am going to attempt to get up North to visit my friend I met on the Isle of Skye last time – who gave me a ride back from Elgol and the wonderful Loch Coruisk to my grotty hostel in Broadford. I have a plan to get me there cheaply but will not find out whether it will work until I attempt to implement it on Friday evening. I will let you know, but fingers crossed for Yorkshire and a night sky where I can see a whole lot of stars.

More pics on my Instagram

A replica painting in the Plimco tube station