Tower of London

I could feel the sun descending on my back and decided if I was going to see the Tower of London I would need to get going. I walked under Tower Bridge, passing a homeless man playing the harmonica and was suddenly infront of the historic walls that hid what was at a time a castle, a time a prison, a time a dungeon, and now a tourist attraction. For hundreds upon hundreds of years this has been a centre of London, where Anne Boylen and Elizabeth the first spent time, Anne being the sad victim of the guillotine… artists and authors and religious persons… all met their fate here. You could almost feel the eeryness of history blanketing you.

I stepped toward the Thames and took in the perspective, as the sun fell low and shed shadows over the Northern foreshore. Behind me was a very large photo of a jacket potato marketing the restaurant, I couldn’t help but think of Nigel and our Jacket Potato nights… putting everything you could imagine on the unsuspecting potato. I had to take a photo and send it to him. I tried to angle myself in such a way that my head and the potato were in the frame – a more difficult feat than one could imagine.

A kindly gentleman smiled at me, I smiled back while still trying to stand on one leg in an attempt to create the perfect Fiona/Potato Picture (which I’m sure would be an award winning photo). He asked if he could take a photo for me. Still with a certain level of trepidation I agreed and handed him the now beloved shiny green camera. He started pointing in the direction of Tower Bridge and the Thames…
“Ummm… Sir?”, he turned around to look at me,
“I actually wanted me next to the potato?”, at which point the man with the kind eyes laughed outloud before looking at me with amusement and concern (I assume for the state of my general mentality), took a photo and handed me the camera.
I could see his chest bouncing with laughter as he walked away.

I popped across to a vendor and bought a doughnut with thick red jam and every sugary granule in the Northern Hemisphere, chomping into it with such a level of delight… there is nothing quite as comforting as a jam doughnut, still warm from the doughnut maker. As I walked in the direction of the ticket machine I noted a large banister advising “Ice Skating at the Tower of London”… I took a photo and felt that familiar niggling feeling, wishing my sister was here to go skating with.

I bought my tickets and headed toward the Tower of London, stopping briefly to have my bag checked. The security guard saw the photo of my adventures within the Tower Dungeons Tour,
“Was that good?” he said enthusiastically, his stern persona suddenly turning him into a twenty-something pretending to be an adult,
“Yeah… strangely enough. I found it pretty entertaining at any rate, worth the money, take your girlfriend”, he laughed,
“She thinks ET is scary!”,
I headed into the Tower of London, still smiling from my brief conversation.

London Tower is actually “Her Majesty’s Palace and Fortress”, later to become “The Tower” when being used as a prison. It was built by William the Conquerer in 1078, the façade has remained similar to its original foundations, but renovations have continued throughout the decades. It was initially a fortress, ensuring the security of London by being situated on the Thames, a prime position to deter any possible attempts at invasion. It later became the Royal Palace and finally functioned as a prison for traitors, assassins’ and religious foes. The likes of St Thomas More, John II of France, Edward Seymore and even Queen Elizabeth I had been kept within these walls. So many people killed for crimes they did not commit, or because they were on the wrong side of the fence when the new monarch came to the thrown. It was in quite a bit of use during Henry VIII’s reign, Lady Jane Grey (Queen for 9 days) also met her maker here.

But it is not only early history that makes the Tower what it is today, its was still in use as a prison during the Second World War when Rudolf Hess (deputy to Hitler) was accommodated in one of the towers. In 1974 a bomb went off in another of the towers, killing one person and injuring 41 others (Scotland Yard suggested it be the IRA, but the poor IRA were blamed for pretty much everything during that time, regardless whether they were involved or not. Generally speaking the IRA always owned up to their attacks so it is unlikely it was infact, them).


Apparently Ghosts still haunt the halls of the Tower of London, Anne Boleyn, Henry VI and Margaret Pole are some names that come to the lips of those who have worked in there. Whispers, cries, shouts and unexplained howling winds. With such a history I don’t doubt that there are more things than we can see, the tortured souls of the wronged.

In the centre of the courtyard there is a round glass sculpture, as you wander around it in a clockwise direction it creates a prayer to those who were imprisoned in the tower and suffered for crimes that may not have been committed. It is quite emotional, being there, sensing the fear of the occupants, hearing the creaking doors and reading the graffiti. Graffiti is actually a very old form of art, not what we see today. Originally it was known as Graffito (Italian term describing the ‘scratching’ of a surface) and the first discovered from was found in Ancient Rome and Pompeii. It is found throughout the world, including the Tower of London. Standing at one of the thin steel wound windows deeply set into the wall, images are seen. Prisoners used make shift picks to scratch and carve poems, names and murals into the walls. Some were prayers, others the Family Crest… it takes your breath away, the perfection of the miniature pieces of art, thinking about that person, sitting there day and night, day and night, dreaming of escape, fearing for the future they wouldn’t experience, just scratching… endlessly. Some weren’t finished which sent a chill down the back of my neck – those persons had met the guillotine before their graffiti was complete.

The experience was haunting but unbelievably interesting. In one room actors were playing at being royalty and interacting with the tourists. I looked closely at the stairs, I enjoy thinking about the people who constructed buildings like there, the dresses that swept over these stairs, the maids who swept them, what stories did these stairs have to tell? More than my mind could ever begin to contemplate.

Through the court yard strode actors dressed in costumes of soldiers throughout the ages, all performing and interacting as if they were within their respective era’s. I walked through the torture chambers, wondering what kind of person could come up with such evil mechanical devises, the victim was laid on a wooden bench, their arms and legs strapped in by leather, the torturer would turn a large vice and the victim would literally be stretched… more often than not their bones would crack and break, joints would pop out of their sockets. It was too horrendous to think about and I couldn’t bear be in there for long…

Coming out of the dungeons I took note of the canons that lay in waiting, painted up to look as they would all those 100s of years ago. I could almost see the soldiers running around, shouting and igniting the gun powder.

Where to next? I could see the steeple of St Pauls Cathedral and thought it might be worth a bit of a walk. I headed in that general direction, ducking and jumping out of the way of the onslaught of crazed pigeons… those pigeons… such scary creatures. I came to the top of Tower Hill, overlooking the Tower and London and on through to the Thames. Standing here I discovered a tribute to the soldiers that had fought and died in the First World War. Romaneque in construction, each pillar and wall was littered with names… hundreds of thousands of names. I couldn’t imagine the grief the country would have felt at that time and was glad to be paying my respects all of these years later.

Across from this was an unlabelled building, more than likely just a place of business, but at the very top of the building stood Zeus, naked and pointing to the sky. I just love looking up in London, you never know who might be watching over you, from Kings and Queens, to Cherubs and other mythological creatures.

I took out my map and identified the appropriate route to take in order to get the St Pauls Cathedral before the sun went down. Along my way I saw a pub entitled, “Hung, Drawn and Quartered”, although a bit tasteless considering where it was situated, it was also quite amusing to think someone would name their pub such a thing… I took a photo and carried on my merry way.

Walking down a side street I noticed a door with a small non descript sign saying “Church through here”. I could help but have a gander, its quite exciting slipping into doors and finding things you’d had no intention of seeing. When I entered the church, so closely connected to corporate buildings, I was amazed by the magnitude of the organ pipes. 15 foot golden pipes soaring into the high set ceiling. If only I could find the stairs… there was no one there, maybe I could have a bit of a tinkle with the organ’s keys. Unfortunately I noticed the CCT Cameras blinking at me and decided it best not be arrested. It was nice, the solitude, the quiet… silence away from beeping horns, chattering people, doors slamming… London is loud.

After taking a moment to breath I carried on down the cobbled street only to find a mini walk way, again, obscurely set amongst buildings… A murial was the centrepiece of the cement space, it looked to have been a school project and I imagined the children of London painting away carefully – so proud of their work. The mural was dedicated to the 1666 Fire of London. I took a moment to peruse the drawing, glad that such a moment of history was not forgotten and continued my trek.

Along the way I saw ads to purchase the Evening Standard – the most popular daily paper in London – it was shocking and depressing to read, “Jobless Soaring to 2 million”, and “Tragic Baby P” – about a child that had been constantly abused by its mother and mothers partner, until it was eventually beaten to death by the mothers partner and his two friends… No wonder London was suffering most from the “Credit Crunch”, spreading depression and very little hope. I remember reading about the Wall Street Crash and that the most influential aspect was the fact that everyone ‘thought’ the banks were going to go bust, so everyone took their money out of the banks… therefore, the banks went bust. Self fulfilling prophecy. I wondered if people had more faith that things would be alright, that maybe then… things would be alright. Focusing on negativity all the time only makes you negative and it breeds like a disease. I made a mental note not to read the paper or watch the news unless I was in complete control of the contents… I wanted to be happy.

Finally I turned a corner and was taken aback by the sheer size of St Pauls Cathedral… It is magnificent and so beautifully constructed. I had quite a lot of difficulty trying to get the steeple and the entire building into the same frame… at the same time having difficulty to take a photo without a great red bus in it. No wonder the red bus is an icon of London… they’re everywhere!

I was so happy to simply be near the building, you almost felt as if you were in Italy, not the centre of London. I noticed exceptionally well dressed individuals making their way out of the Cathedral… I knew that you were allowed to go inside, but felt the need to confirm with someone considering the group of chattering individuals emerging from the interior. I approached a man with a tag around his neck – that looked official enough,
“Is it ok to go in?”
“Oh… usually, yes.” I waited a moment, but apparently that was the end of the sentence,
“Can I go in now then?”,
“Oh no… no, not today. We’re always open, but today we had a function”,
“Ofcourse you did,” I said, “Just my luck!” and thanked him for his time. Well, just another thing to put onto my increasingly expanding ‘to do’ list.

I was, however, very content with how the day had panned out and decided to make my way across to South London to catch the Northern Line tube, maybe stop for dinner on the way. Luckily, directly infront of St Pauls Cathedral and down the road is situated the Millenium Bridge – a bridge for pedestrians only. Why not? I thought and headed that way. I passed a scooter car park and took a photo thinking of my Fathers new pride and joy, and smiling at the image of his beard sticking out from under his helmet as he zoomed about Busselton.

Walking along Millenium Bridge I watched the sunset, the purples, pinks and pascal blues making their way across the sky. The Kiss Hug building had lit up already and darkness was slowly moving in. My stomach rumbled… still not being able to get used to the fact that night time is not night time in London, and just because its dark doesn’t mean you need to have tea. Never the less, if I fancied a bite once I’d gotten to the South Bank, then a bite I would have!

The Tate Modern rose up before me, teasing me… I was dying to go there, it was one of the main places to see in London, it had come way before the London Eye, or even Big Ben… but I had promised Mark that I would wait until we could go together – he is quite interested in art as well and its always nice to have someone to discuss these things with. I was contemplating sneaking in… just popping my head in there for a moment or two… when my phone rang,


“Where are you?”
“Ha! Mark… you wont believe it! I am right infront of the Tate Modern and was going to be VERY naughty and sneak in”, he laughed and I said it was so terribly strange that he should call just at that moment, therefore I should wait… he was happy to hear it.

I walked back past the Tate Modern and along the South Bank, taking in, again, the city lights, the blue fairy lights in the trees, heard the laughter from passers by, the music dancing on the winds, tourists clapping at the street theatre performers.

I didn’t really want to leave the South Bank, maybe hold onto the moment for a little longer. I looked across at St Pauls Cathedral, the steeple lit up and words changing every few minutes – ‘Love’, ‘Change’, ‘Respect’… all positive words, I thought it must have something to do with Christmas.

I found a restaurant / bar along my walk, situated right on the river. Outside were steel pillars with flames flickering warming the couples that sat speckled at tables here and there, enjoying a glass of wine and a meal. I decided it was too good to walk past and ordered myself a pasta and glass of warm red. I took my pen and paper and started recounting the events of my day. Easing myself back into the chair and looking at the lights littering the Northern foreshore I felt peacefully happy, all grown up… I was bringing my years of imagining to life… what was next?

London Dungeons - to be continued...

A few days later I felt that I’d spent enough time on the computer searching for jobs and getting scammed by Nigerians about house shares that didn’t actually exist… I needed some oxygen and excitement. I didn’t have a specific plan, I just wanted to laugh at one point, feel wonder at another and simply enjoy my own company for a day.

I jumped on the Tooting Bec tube once more, feeling the hot smelly wind gusting across my face, with my ipod stuck in my ears and book in my lap I waited for the mechanical lady to announce “The… next… stop…. Is…. London Bridge… Depart here for London Bridge…. Mind…. The…. Gap…”. As I write that I can almost hear her voice, I’ve heard it every couple of days for the last six weeks now!

Getting out of the station I saw “The London Dungeon” staring at me. Considering I had no specific plan and for once hadn’t scheduled the whole day, what was stopping me from taking the London Dungeon Tour? It was supposed to be even better and more tragicly touristy than the London Bridge tour. I took a deep breath, pushed away the thought that I was going to be doing this by myself, and that might, in some way, be embarrassing. But atleast I would do it and I didn’t mind being frightened for my life all alone… So I headed in.

A crowd was gathering at the counter, couples and groups, smirking at one another in embarrassed anticiption. I fumbled with my gloves, then crashed all of the coins in my purse on the counter… still frustrated at the face that the 2 pence coin is much larger than the twenty pence coin, not to mention the two pound looks completely different to any of the other coins…

After apologising profusely for my inability to accept the idiocy of how many coins England feels the need to have, and accidently bumping into three people standing very closely behind me I proceeded to trip over a head that was laying blood-spattered on the ground.

Including myself there was a group of about twenty that were escorted by a ghost with lascerations across his throat and dark rings under his eyes into a room of twists and turns, every wall constructed of mirrors. Mirrors after mirrors, no one knew where they were going, where they’d come from. I thought a person was behind me when infact they were infront, I walked into mirrors, slamming my face and leaving a smudge. Funnily enough I found the whole experience quite entertaining, even with the tortuous shouts and yells that echoed through the halls.



After ten minutes of bumping and crashing and trying my hardest to keep my cool and retain some level of dignity I heard a voice from behind, “Come this way! Follow meeeeeee….”, feeling thankful for the assisted direction I strode forward toward the voice and attached figure… and slammed right into yet another full sized mirror… where the heck should I go? A couple siddled past me, I decided the best option was to watch their feet very carefully and hope that their instincts were sharper than mine.

We were taken into a court house, the judge explained the need for one of the visiting group to be tried for dressing like a man in the centre of town. Unfortunately he was infact sentenced to death for being French… shortly thereafter I was sentenced to death for distracting the judge with my big eyes… it was all very exciting, with the sound of the jury shouting behind you, all of the group squeezed into a small room, everyone smiling at one another… the asian gentleman not terribly sure of what was going on, and a young girl squeaking at appropriate intervals and grabbing on to her boyfriends arm.

Going through a hole in the wall we were taken through to visit with Sweeney Todd… sat at wooden seats that were set around a barbers chair. Suddenly, the echoing and daunting sound of scissors cutting and razors being sharpened reverberated behind us and a voice came through the darkness. Sweeney’s wife started explaining the need for meat… her pies were not what they used to be… her friend upstairs (whom she was secretly in love with) had a plan… and what sort of meat do you think he suggested? Smoke bellowed from the corners of the room and the ladies voice bid us all goodbye… and goodluck. Suddenly Sweeney presented himself, asking who would like a SNIP hairy cut… and “You sir… SNIP… look like you need a close shave, the best in London…”. The chairs struck back to the gasps of the whole group, and a cold wind flew through the air. More screams from the group as something behind us whisped through the chairs and touched our backs, then, our hair.

Another hidden door was opened and we were ushered through it, “quick, quick! They’re coming… the ghosts of the dungeons… RUN!”

As quickly as a group of twenty can move through a thin door way, we stumbled into the next room where the Ferry Man greeted us with a sweep of his hand. He was here to escort us to the other side, “You are dead… I am your captain, your new best friend… My?” he said looking ever so closely at the people in closest proximity, “You look awefully peachy for a dead person… no spots, no bruises? Are you dead?” he poked and prodded, “No!” responded two of the front runners… the Ferry Man looked bemused, “Well? Too late now… off to the depths of the other world with you”, and pushed the first four people onto the first floating boat before us.

There was a stream running infront of and leading into a darkened dungeon. Through the dungeon you could hear the screams and shouts… The next four were escorted onto the boat, “How many are you?” he asked…
“Umm” I stutted, “Just one…” looking rather sheepish. He smiled, out of character for a moment and asked me to step to the side for just a moment, he had a special boat for me…

I got a front seat on the last boat and was sitting next to a gentleman who was escorting his elderly parents around the tombs… which I thought quite intriguing but was very impressed with the couples taking on such an adventure.

The boat bobbed to the current leading on into the darkness where the screams became louder and louder. Water spattered at me and headless creatures walked along the rivers broken red-brick shore. The boat moved up, up and up – as if we were on a roller coaster in the middle of the night – before we were turned, I stared infront of me at a blood streaked wall, looked across at a man in a cage hanging from the roof. Then suddenly we were pulled backward, sharp and fast and down… I looked at the man next to me, he looked at me… we both screamed (he, with a little more embarrassment then myself) before coming to a sudden hault.

I loved the ride. I had completely forgotten how much I loved ghost rides and made a mental note to go on more in the future, and to more importantly identify the best ghost ride in Europe… and buy a ticket there.

We were escorted off the boat by yet another intimidating figure that had apparently been chopped up into very small pieces and then sewn back together. Mechanical rats danced around our feet and we met back up with the rest of our group.

We found ourselves talking with the Detective looking for Jack the Ripper, explaining the different potential candidates… who had killed these prostitutes? The killed women danced on the wall before us… I had seen Johnny Depp in ‘From Hell’ and thought I had some vague Hollywood idea about the history of Jack the Ripper, but it was fascinating to find out the background of the investigation… the fact that the initial candidates were jailed simply for being vagabonds rather than being connected to any of the evidence. Oh it seemed like such a dark world.

During my travels there were other snippets of history and gouls greeting us along our journey. It was fascinating and funny and so well done. The people running the tour seemed to not only care about entertaining customers, but also holding true to the history of the London Dungeons. I was very impressed.

But not as impressed as I soon would be…

Myself and four other people were placed in a dark room, filled with graffiti on the wall explaining the history of the Dungeons, the murders and diseases and fires. I spent ten minutes wandering around reading and enjoying the musky music that filled the small room. Hearing the latch of the steel door unhook my heart jumped a beat – what was next? Another boat ride?...

The Grim Reaper walked into the room… “You are all… ALL… going to DIE” he bellowed… He struck his stick on the ground and motioned for us to move through the steel door… We dare not ignore his advise…

Entering the next room we saw long lines of red leather seats all attached to large metal poles, which were in turn attached to an apparatas that led o the highest part of the very tall room… One of those rides that you see at shows and festivals…

“Are you scared?” drowled lurch as he pulled the safety harness over me,
“Ummm… what’s going to happen?” I asked… he laughed and stepped away.

I was sitting alone on the bench, the other group of four on the bench behind me… all alone I wasn’t sure what was about to occur. I held my breath.

We were taken up, my legs swinging in the emptiness below… Looking down at the floor below I estimated that we were atleast three building floors up. I could only guess what was to happen next.

Lights struck up against men dressed as judges, they announced;

“You have been convicted for crimes against her Magesty the Queen of England. May you be strung by the neck until you are Dead… Dead… Dead”

And then. The lights went out. Darkness. Elephant filled silence. Before…

I was rushing down screaming, my hair up around my ears, my feet 90 degrees with my hips… we were falling through the air at such a speed… I SCREAMED! I screamed like I’d never screamed before and it was fantastic.

It was the end of the tour and chatting to the guide he said he’d never seen someone enjoy being frightened for her life so much. He gave me a free photo and I thanked him very much.

Coming out back into the light I didn’t even care what the rest of the day held, I could go home and be happy, so impressed with my little experience I was.

I saw Tower Bridge across from me and thought it would be nice to see, and photograph it during the day. While snapping photos here and there a very nice man came up to me and asked if I’d like him to take a photo. Part of me was slightly concerned by the offer, ‘he might run off with my camera!’, but I felt too rude declining the offer so resigned myself to the possibility of my camera being stolen for the sake of keeping face.

Luckily, he didn’t run away with my camera and took a nice snap of me with Tower Bridge behind me. I decided considering I was on the touring trail I might as well do the Tower of London while I was in the vicinity.

Walking along the bridge I looked across the river, getting that familiar surreal feeling…
“Look where you are! Fiona… you are actually in London. All by yourself”, and a quick sense of pride and amazement came across me. I have such a desire to take advantage of this experience. I felt re-energised and as I walked along the bridge, staring up at the sweeping arches and windows bearing down I started singing, nothing in particulare… just singing, making up songs like I did as a child, almost skipping along, past the other site seers, smiling at them, smiling at me and simply being happy.

I remembered Kelly saying about St Katherine Dock, it was opposite the Tower of London and I thought I had enough time to go for a leisurely walk. The sun was flickering on the Thames and through the trees, it was all so beautiful and I felt at ease with taking the day as it came.

Walking down the stairs and past the man selling roasted chestnuts (I am still as saving my first chestnuts experience until I have someone to share the moment with) The sun beamed through bridge and across the square before me. It was picturesque – what were those people going on about, me not seeing the sun for weeks on end, what a magical day this was. But regardless of the sun it was freezing cold, my fingers were hardly capable of pressing down on the little silver button in order to take a photo.

St Katherines Dock is a little haven in the centre of London, filled with empty but welcoming boutiques, people wandering slowly along the water sipping tea and coffee from cardboard cups. There was a silence in the air that I embraced. A main road was only steps away, and yet, all I could hear was a light wind and the bobbing of grand expensive boats in the bay. My pace slowed as I crossed a wooden bridge and took in the mosaics adorning the walls. It seemed like a secret place, and I was glad to be there in that moment.

Camden Markets & A Movie

My sister and I are in love with markets and both of us dream of going to markets that simply never end. All the cheap wares from across the globe on display for us, men shouting and yelling about how cheap this is, and how exotic that is. Nigel on the other hand, despises them, but on my last day in Australia he wanted to do all the things I loved with me, he took me not only to Subiaco market, but Fremantle as well. He wanted to make sure that I was happy and my last few days in Perth were perfect. He wanted to get me some jewellery but knows how particular I am… I don’t wear much and there is no explaining why I wear the things I do. Generally it is hand me down beads that I was given of my Grandmothers, a very special focil pendant that my sister bought me, an orate watch from my Mum… little things that mean something. He should have known what ever he got me would be the world, but instead he made the present even more special by spending two hours running around with me from stall to stall to find the ring that I would fall in love with. The stall we bought it from I had looked at about 5 times, we wandered around the market about three times… there were people everywhere and even the shop assistant was feeling sorry for poor Nigel. He just continued to smile and joke and was patient and eventually… the square shell silver ring was chosen… I’ve not taken it off since, even poking myself in the eye with it every night wont force me to remove it from my left index finger… So when I went to Camden Markets – the most well known markets in London - it was bitter sweet with memories of my sister and of Nigel.

After spending two days in the house, wandering around the common, trying to catch up on sleep and more importantly, resting my legs (that had since re-grown the muscle they had had when I was in school swimming for hours at a time… which I was secretly pleased about and am currently dreading going back to an office drinking sugary tea and sitting down all day) I wanted to have a happy day. When I was ever grumpy in Perth or wanted to cheer myself up I would always run off to Fremantle markets. I loved the electricity of smiling faces, dred-lock marketers selling hand made beads and bobs, the smell of fried onion and scoops of icecream when I needed a break. I never really bought anything, but delighted being around so much that I thought, ‘when I get a house I’ll have that, and that… oh! And that as well’. Simple pleasures are always the best. My mother and I both have a fondness for imagining what we’d like – its nice to live in your imagination once in a while. So Camden was it.

I jumped on one train and then another, crossed over and after my third short ride on the underground came out at Camden with potentially every other person in the whole of England – it was swamped… even early in the morning. The sun was shining down and I was in awe of the magnitude of the area. My first image was colourful buildings… the area is what you might describe as ‘alternative’ and I thought Brett (assuming all the people on the streets would disappear) would love it, Tiffany certainly would. Stupid I know, but I just love painted buildings, wonderful pascal and fluorescent colours staving off the impeding grey sky. I love the idea behind it, to be out there, different, unrestricted. I imagine going to Greece and seeing the white washed walls of houses and their window panes bight blue and red… a burst of anticipation crept up in my throat, I pushed it down, ‘I’ll get there soon, one thing at a time’.

I moved through the see of bobbing heads, listening to people chatting and pointing. People of every nationality… and interestingly, every fashion trend… I wished with all my heart that there as someone that I could talk to, laugh with, when I watched all of this, my eyes almost popping from my head. Mohican wearing half naked men with cow boy boots strode along as if everything were completely normal, biker looking boys with thick silver diamond encrusted crosses hanging from their necks, girls wearing black mini tutus, bright pink hair and ripped layers of different coloured shirts… I was trying so hard not to stare, but it was as if I was walking through a million different films at one time. I tried to take a photo of one woman who was wearing a colourful beanie with what looked like sausages popping out of it…

Not only were the walls marvellously colourful, but many of them had great sculptures adorning them. A huge cat clawing up the walls, an Aeroplane descending, a pair of unattached legging-clad legs, a rocking chair and red boot. How fabulous, all buildings should have these, I thought to myself, looking like a tourist and happily snapping away. The stalls were just as fantastic with everything you ever wanted out for show. T-Shirts with every comment or character you could imagine… I wanted to buy them all. My favourite that springs to mind wrote “Guns don’t kill people, People with moustaches do!”.

If you ever wanted a pair of wellingtons… this was certainly the place to go, would you like a pink-purple poker dotted pair? Or green swirls on a yellow background? Would you like the image of the queen on your toes, or prefer flying elephants. The high heels trod a similar path, with shoe laces every colour of the rainbow, heels that looked like banana’s, and some sprouting all sorted of bizarre lace. I so wanted to have more money, I could be the quirkiest Aussie that ever did tred the London streets. It was fun simply looking at them, knowing that these things existed… and if I really wanted to, I could wear them! And wear them without sticking out like a sore thumb.

I picked up a pair of blue sun glasses that had blue plastic lined across the lense… not really knowing why one would feel the need to put plastic across the lense – had to put them on a take a photo. I passed a serpent winding its way on one building before entering another market along the Camden Road. There were pots and pans, and strange sticky toys that when you threw them down it would appear that they were moving as they wrinkled back to their original size. There were food stalls and jewellery stalls, stalls dedicated to all things London, and stalls dedicated to all things old. It was fabulous and my mind could not keep up with my eyes, my camera couldn’t keep up with anything!

I finally made it to Camden Lock which is a stream that runs through the area. I always have a strange feeling seeing a stream, river or any type of water trailing through the more vibrant areas. Almost forgotten about, the water is so silent and flowing the way it would regardless of people, traffic, society… human existence. I like that, something beyond ourselves. It is intriguing the juxtaposition of something so natural and placid being here, amongst the hubbub of a commercial world.

Next to Camden Lock is Camden Lock Markets – ofcourse, and I quite liked these markets, more so than the earlier ones – it was cleaner and more structured. I considered my constant realisation that I am not the spontaneous individual I thought I was, I do like clean, I like familiarity and above all… I love plans. So sweet Camden Lock Markets agreed with me. There initially seemed to be less people and my stomach was roaring at me. I stepping into the restaurant that overlooked the lock and took it upon myself to have an open Chicken Club Sandwich and a glass of wine and pretend I was rich for an hour.

The Sandwich was horrendous, the chicken was cold and I had been given the butt of the tomato… disappointing, but atleast I was drinking wine from France. I took out my book and with gloved hands attempted to read, trying to look windswept and interesting and really involve myself in the moment. Listening to the music from the vendors downstairs, watching women giggle with one another while they shopped mercilessly, attempting to spend every penny they had earned during the week. Men darted from place to place in search of what they’d come to find and then making a quick exit (apart from those who held a pint of Guinness and laughed with the DJ selling his music, stepping out for a quick dance now and again). There was so much going on, too much to try and read. I watched a father and son eating pizza across from me, the son sipping happily on a glass of coke, as the father leaned back into the glimpse of sun and enjoyed a well deserved beer. There were bags strewn across the seats beside them and I wondered if they were shopping for ‘Mums’ Christmas present. A couple kissed and nuzzled one another, trying on their new beanies and speaking Spanish. They smiled at me, having caught my eye, I smiled back and felt the hot sense of desire grasp at my chest, I pushed it away and instead took out my camera. If those I loved weren’t here, they weren’t going to walk around a corner no matter how much I wanted them to do, I could atleast take them with me through my photos.

After finishing half of my sandwich and half of my wine I decided to carry on my adventure. Get some excitement from the hubbub below, and get rid of the bitter part of my bitter sweet day.

A fish adorning yet another wall oogled me as I set off down stairs to the main portion of the market. Upon entering I met an artist who was displaying his recent work for sale. The pictures were almost cartoon like, making use of a realistic background and placing a caricature frog or cat doing all sorts of wonderful things. He was drawing them there and then and I couldn’t believe how fast his hand danced over a page. One minute there was nothing but a blank sheet of paper, and the next, an amazing image that you thought only a computer could create. He apparently had been doing this for 15 years and had seen the changes in the market. It used to be unknown and the home of artists, actors, writers… a bohemian world. That’s how he got this prime position and he loved his work. He said that he felt the image rather than saw it, his hand would create something and even he was surprised when the page was filled with charcoal and colour. I wished him well and said I would come back one day when I was rich to purchase a few originals. He bent his head back over his work.

I wandered about the old building listening to the music of the market, touching the hand crafted wooden boxes, the pearl and mineral jewellery, trying hard not to spend my money purchasing things for the ones at home. There was so much I thought, this person would love that… and oh! That would go so well in their house… Trying to keep in mind the need to work… and when I started work I might be able to come back and go on my spoiling spree. There was just so much… so many unique bits and pieces, handcrafted by the vendors that held the stalls. Original photography and drawings, old newspapers from the 30s and 40s, signs about Soap and Cider, magnets galore, jewellery for every interest and music… so much music, “you don’t have a CD player, Fiona”, I heard Nigel say in my mind, “and you can download it anyway… don’t be silly”. So I was not silly and I just chatted to the vendors about their wares… “did you draw that?”, “how did you capture that image?”, “oh? You must LOVE your job!”… and everyone was so welcoming and so interested in chatting, in laughing with you, even though they had probably heard the same questions a million times before on the same day. The wind blew up at one time when I was looking at Audrey Hepburn bags made from old 78 Records, I held down the bags and bits, helping the lady selling the good to stop everything from ending up on the street. We laughed and she thanked me with a slight Germanic accent. I was getting a buzz of simply feeling confident and speaking to people, taking an interest in them. Picking up something that had fallen over, or stopping items from blowing away.

I discussed the weather in Siberia with a man from Russia, he confided that there was no heating in his cousins home for the whole of winter! That I should always wear gloves because, and held up his hand, frostbite can happen to anyone… I starred at the nub that must once have been a middle finger. He was a very jolly sort. Another women told me about her lovely handcrafted jewellery, that she made more at this stall over three days than she used to as a Shop Manager on the high street. Everyone had such stories to tell and I relished hearing them.

There was a leather-bound journal store, a pipes and all store, everything Indian in one area, and then… and then…. Food

Why had I eaten that horrible sandwich?! Why….

Before me opened up a delight that can only be smelt. Food stall upon food stall, staring back at me, teasing me with their oily and exotic goodness. From true Italian Pizza to every Asian country you could imagine, spices swung through the air, hot dogs and curry, sushi and boiled this and boiled that. Everything could be battered or beaten, fried and sautéed… ohh what a magnificent dream. Sad to say that the moment I walked up the food section of the markets I had my first true wave of happiness – something to be said of ‘fat and happy’.

I steered away… I had eaten and therefore would starve myself for two days before coming here again, there was too much to try and I so wanted to try it with someone as well. I would entice Kelly or Mark to join me on my next adventure.

I carried on my journey and came across some 1960’s music. A small shop, darkened but for the glowing blue guitars that littered the roof. I couldn’t help myself, I had to dance. I took my camera out and boogied for a few moments, enjoying the moment, the music… where I was. As kids Dad would put on old music and teach us how to keep a beat, sitting down and slapping our knees in time. That childish desire to make your father proud, and he beamed when he saw that we could slap our knees in time. We loved that old music, on Saturday nights when Uncle Alan and Aunty Sue, Rodney and Jenny and all sorts of family friends would come to the house, Dad would put six o’clock rock on the radio and the men would sit around guessing who sung what. My sister and I would dance around, pretending we came from those days. Enjoying the happy voices that bounced off the old stone walls of our home. To this day when my sister and I are in a shop, in the house… in the car, and a slice of that music comes on, we dance and bounce and swing around, not caring who is looking… music is a delight of existence. So dancing here, now, in London, I missed my sister but relished in the memories that glowed before my subconscious.

I considered buying an across the shoulder bag and decided that I could deal with my back pack just a little longer, and continued on my way out of the noise and joy as the rain set in and evening descended. I was still in awe of the wonderful bits and pieces that littered street after street, stall after stall… wares of welcome, everything ready for the purchase… everything I wanted, but sadly logic advised that I didn’t ‘need’ anything… A pity at my lack of frivolity, but atleast I still had pounds in my pocket.

On making my way back to the tube after hours of wandering around and appreciating all that Camden had to offer, trying my hardest to ignore the hoards of crowds that made it impossible to move more than a mouse hop at a time, I came across a man who was playing the bike… The bike! He had constructed a drum set from his upsidedown bike and was pumping out joyous tunes to the delight of the 3 person deep crowd. I listened for a while and noted the “Worlds End Pub” that I had heard about before and still cant pin point the reason… I passed antique book stores and wanted so much to buy a First Edition or Two… I couldn’t help but step in and smell… ahh the smell of good books, books that have been loved. I liked to imagine the person writing those novels, how they lived, what they felt when they were writing, and also imagine those who had read the books, and what they were experiencing at the time… what had that book meant to them? I knew that so many novels indicate a sense of mentality or emotion in my life, I was reading Obernewtyn throughout highschool and felt that I was the misfit Elspeth myself, they were dark days when reading the “Bell Jar”, Jane Austin told me about the subtleties of love and adoration, while “Purple Hibiscus” explained the importance of accepting different cultures. The world… all in books.

After waltzing about Camden I decided it was time for some to find Covent Garden. I had been in the vicinity previously but for the life of me could not find Covent Square… it was playing on my mind and I wanted to feel a sense of accomplishment. I jumped back on the tube along with 100s of others that were making their way home with bags of expensive market goodies, and headed in the direction of the West End. Upon existing I wandered about, the rain was setting in and the sun was on its decent. It was only 4pm but I didn’t have much daylight left.

I took out a map and stood under doorway trying to stop the freezing rain drops from pitter pattering on my head. I looked left and right, and back and forward and tried to trace where I was to where I wanted to go. Unfortunately I had lost my favourite map on the tube some days before and the one I was using didn’t provide many street names. It was no good, there was no hope and I was getting colder but the minute. I decided to simply wander… quite often during my wandering I had come to the place I wanted to go in the first place… unfortunately, generally I had been in a far better mood at the time and as the clouds created deep shadows across the cobbled pavement, my mood darkened as well. I walked up this street and then the one over there, I found China Town and Trafalga Square… I turned again and was back where I started without any intention. Frustration was building up inside me and I was about to burst. Did the gods not want me to find Covent Garden? Was is secret? Did it not want to meet me?

The rain was coming into my shoes, my hair was flying about and curling crazily from the damp, I couldn’t feel my fingers and the air was beginning to freeze my throat.
“Argh!” I said allowed, to the shock of a passer by. I took out my trusty green camera and discussed with it what I should do… showing all my annoyance and frustration. While discussing my predicament with my trusty green camera I advised,
“This is not travelling! I feel like this is just a job… all I want to do it watch a movie”… a moment of realisation, “Do you know what?” I said to my camera, myself and whom ever I thought might watch this little film of ranting a raving, “I SHALL go to the movies, I’m on holidays”, and with that I signed off, crossed Leicester Square where I had ended up which wandering about aimlessly and bobbed into a Cinema.

I purchased a ticket to “Easy Virtue”, perfect, a period comedy with my one true love, Colin Firth – just what the doctor ordered. I think to a certain degree I had decided that I needed to do things because I was in London… I felt guilty not doing things and it became “forced fun”. Finally starting to understand that this can be relaxing as well, that I don’t need to do everything in a day or a week. Going to the cinema was a special little thing I could do for me. I used to love escaping to the movies on my own.

People were still grinding away in their offices so there was hardly anyone in the cinema. Before going in I decided to purchase a little tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream (enjoying the name as much as the flavour) and a small lemonaide… The lady handed over the most gargantuan cup of lemonade…
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
I looked at the cup.
She looked at me…
I looked at her…
“Ummm just a small is fine?” I said apologetically,
“That’s the smallest we have…” she said, a bit concerned that I’d know this was a small…
“Good Lawwwd!” I gasped, “Hate to see a big one!”.
The two men behind me laughed, as did my server. I handed over my pounds, smiled and nodded at all surrounding me, seeing my shock and amazement and with a new sense of happiness moved into the cinema.

The Cinema was huge and empty and warm and quiet and… heavenly. I felt very impressed with myself as I took off my hat and jacket and eased myself into the chair – front and centre. Breathing out with a long sigh I decided not to contemplate what I was doing tomorrow or the week after… not to think about what I’d done today. To simply have a few hours respite, me and the huge screen – Colin Firth oozing his chivalry before before my eyes… ahh how wonderful, simple moments like these.

Borough Markets - Foodtastic & Globe Theatre

Could the day get any better? We were both bouncing from the happy and yet somewhat frightening experience. Gossiping about the actors, so much effort put into their performance. I decided that I would find out how to get one of those jobs – ohhhh what fun it would be!

Kelly and I headed up to cross London Bridge and looked across, cringing, at Tower Bridge. We knew the truth, poor London Bridge, no one knew what a life it had had, horrid Tower Bridge took all of the attention. We had put down our flag on London Bridge and be-damned Tower Bridge – all of its pretence!

Standing on top on London Bridge we wondered which way to go – the plan had gone horribly wrong. We had been on the tour for over an hour… and we were both starving…
“Well”, said Kelly, looking sheepish and naughty at the same time, “Borough Markets is just over there”, and she pointed diagonal from the direction we had come from.
“Hrrmmm” I said, with a sly smile erupting on my face. I had heard of Borough Market. Mark had said he would take me there but he had been so busy with work of late. And here we were, so close! My stomach rumbled encouragingly.
“Why not!”
We took a photo of ourselves with the Gherkin Building in the back thinking of Nigel. When in Australia Nigel and I were obsessed with ‘The Apprentice’, the English version ofcourse with billionaire Alan Sugar (whose daughter strangely enough was one of Mark’s IT clients). The Gherkin is a powerful image in the introduction and to me, it is all very strange to see it with my own eyes and not through a television screen. I’m still yet to get up really close to it, but I seem to be able to see it where ever I am in London.

Off we wandered like school children, skipping with delight toward my favourite of all earthly wonders… food!

I didn’t think I would be THAT impressed, but here was heaven. My mother would fall over, we would have had a ball, she and I, trying this and that, scoffing on chocolate and all the gluttonous delights of London and beyond. Kelly and I almost filled ourselves up before actually buying anything. The cheese stands blew me away, Italian and French men standing behind tire sized rounds of smelly delicious cheese… ohh cheese, beautiful cheese! All different types, more than the colours of the rainbow. We tried this one, oh and that one, can we have a piece of that please?
“Here – this is more mild, a hint of flower”
“No, you will like this one. It is a special parmesan that has matured for 18 months”
I had to buy a slither to take home and my heart was singing with happiness.

Borough Markets is divided in two my a small cobble street road. Along one portion which is out in the open are stalls upon stalls, all neatly set up, the wares for sale perfectly placed on tables behind which stand men and women smiling in anticipation of telling you the relative fortunes of their particular food article. Dips from Spain, Oils from Italy, Mushrooms from the North of England and chocolates from Belgium. All you have to do is look for a period for 3.5 seconds before the lovely stall holder offers you a taste of this and a taste of this. Dip your cracker into this one, try an almond or a stuffed olive. Here! Have a taste of this wonderful mushroom dip, secret ingredients!

There is such a hubbub and everyone seems so happy. I could smell a sausage on the wind and decided that I would purchase a monstrous bratwurst very shortly. But first, we had some serious investigation to do.

Borough Markets has 250 years of history, it was established by the Romans and has since become one of London’s most well renowned markets (potentially, also, one of the most expensive). It has won various awards including “Best London Shopping Experience”, which I whole heartedly agree with! All of the stalls are dressed red, then yellow, red, and again yellow so it is all very pleasing to the eye. It is clean and has the most welcoming vibe to it. It is located right next to one of London’s most beautiful Gothic cathedrals (which Kelly and I took the time to view before crossing into the market. I cannot describe the sense of reverie upon entering the Cathedral, but more important the awe at its structure. I’ve always been a huge fan of Gothic architecture. Those were the days when a person truly cared about every singular aspect of a building. There was love put into those walls, those stainglass windows, even the warn pews were overwhelming in their insignificance compared to the building as a whole. I do love my churches).

Walking into the second section of the market, the stalls open out before you, rows upon rows of culinary delights. I was in heaven. This area is all covered over and located in what used to be a train station. The roof is bright green steel with large windows between allowing in natural light. The brick and cobbles allow for the noise of people coming and going, and men shouting from their stalls, to be carried up, providing a pleasant, warm and welcoming atmosphere – as if you had entered a village rather than being in the heart of London.

We tried some warm mulled wine and chatted to the French man selling it, moved across to the chocolate stall and bought a white one, a champaign one, something with a nut and caramel – basically what ever we could stash into our little bags. It was brilliant, we were giggling with one another – its always lovely to go to a place like this with someone who also appreciates the importance of taste buds and the magic that food can bring to a day. I just wished that Mark had some time – he would have loved showing us around his old haunt as well.

After purchasing our chocolates we sadly turned the corner to find the chocolate stall to end all chocolate stalls. These fine young gentlemen were dipping everything you could imagine into white, dairy and dark chocolate from pineapple to pomegranate, cherries and… well you get the picture. We just pointed and suddenly the tiny piece of perfection was in our hand, and shortly there after in our mouths. I had to film it! This was a moment to be memoraxed.

After filling ourselves up on chocolate and dips we headed off to claim our prize – for me, a bratwurst straight from Germany, and for Kelly, a French stuffed potato with rich matured cheese and pickled everything. Along the way we smelt the fish section and were shocked at the size of a fish’s tongue, then some hens and rabbits caught our eye – hanging upside down and very very dead. Kelly was once again glad that she was a vegetarian, meanwhile my mouth was still watering for my pig in a tube.

After chatting at length with the French potato guy we headed down to the Gothic cathedral garden and munched away with glee. The day was going marvellously well and Borough Markets was added to my redo list (times 10… needed to come here as often as possible!)

It was time to continue our walk as the sun was heading down. Our plan needed reconsideration, there was no way we would make St Pauls Cathedral or St Katherines Dock today, but we could certainly make it to Tower Bridge and cross it – so atleast two things would be accomplished.

We headed along the South Bank where I’d been previously. Chatting about our experiences and things that I still wanted to do. Along our walk we came across a replica Victorian ship and took a few happy snaps. Again, this is the miracle of London, being able to turn a corner and see a ship! Strange and shocking. I understand now that people can say that they have lived in London 20 years and still haven’t seen everything. It is a constantly transforming entity, moving at a pace beyond what one would expect of a city. Today, the sun was even shining and I almost felt that it had come out just for me, to make me smile even when the people you love the most feel so far away. I grasped onto my moments of happiness with both hands and appreciated every second of my fortune.

Along our journey to Tower Bridge… it was most unfortunate, most concerning… and at the same time exceptionally glorious – The Globe Theatre. Here it was. Kelly looked at me. I looked at Kelly. She knew my emotional attachment to our dear Shakespeare and appreciation for theatre generally speaking. Together we moved toward the Globe and decided to take a guided tour around the historic building.

After Kelly convinced the lady at the front desk that we were both students and should therefore get a discount even though neither of us held student cards at the time, we headed into the Museum section of the Globe. This alone was worth seeing.

The Globe theatre was originally constructed in 1599 and was situated some miles from the current Globe Theatre. It was the home of many Shakespearian plays, when writing certain scenes Shakespeare took in the various elements of the Tudorian stage, and he also performed here. It was also a renowned brothel and gambling house. At the time South London was looked down as the Sodom & Gomorrah of England and was infact more of a country side than the city it is today. During Elizabethan times plays were advertised on flag poles and the very small theatre (by todays standards) infact seated (in the looses possible meaning of the word) 350 000 people. There would be stalls and markets set up outside the theatre, bars and ‘restaurants’. It was a hubbub of culture assuming you had no intention of running for office (the attached connotations to visiting the theatre were of the more obscene nature and therefore ladies and gentlemen would disguise themselves before attending a play). The arrangement of the audience was as fascinating as the performance itself, with people spitting and drinking in the ‘stalls’ area, above were seats for the more economically fortunate, and in the ‘gods’ were those ladies and gentlemen that braved social condemnation for the sake of culture and entertainment.



Then in 1613 a fire broke out at the Globe (due to a cannon that was actually being used for special affects that resulted in the thatch of the roof to catch alight and burned the whole theatre to the ground). The theatre was rebuilt but soon to be demolished again.

Because of the Queen Mary puritanical movement plays and performances were eventually banned, actors and patrons were named heretics and the theatre was abandoned and eventually fell to disrepair.

The theatre was rediscovered in the 20th Century and it was an American (bizarrely) that was distraught in 1947, that the theatre had not already been reconstructed. He moved to England and created the New Globe Theatre some distance from the original site and tried to ensure that all the elements of the original Globe Theatre were taken into consideration. It is built as it would have been during Shakespeare’s reign and has been maintained to present day.

Walking around the museum I was able to caste an eye over 200 year old costumes, touch wood that would have been used during the first productions of King Lear and Hamlet. It was fascinating and I felt so fortunate to be there at that moment. Reading the inscriptions on the museums walls about what had happened, who had stood there, the literature of Shakespeare himself… imagining what the actors went through to maintain their art… and actually work during that time, they really fought for what they did. There were miniatures of the Globe and surrounding village (including London Bridge which Kelly and I were most excited about).

Eventually we were hailed by a bell and feeling most like cows, were ushered toward an exceptionally well spoken and woman who thought exceptionally well of herself. She escorted a group of a about 20, including Kelly and I, toward the Globe itself. Stopping to advise us of the importance of the structure and wow us with her knowledge. Personally, I felt like I was being spoken down to and wanted to tell her a thing or too. More so when she advised that ‘no, you are not allowed to walk on the stage’ (which was all I actually wanted to do) and ‘no… please don’t film that’, at which point I looked at Kelly with utter distaste and tried to force myself to remain seated – a strong desire to walk out after explaining that everything she had discussed was out of a 2bit history book I could get out of any bookstore in a common street and she therefore had no right to put a pretence of superiority on at this point in time… urgh! It was not so much what she said but how she said it that really got to me and I thought… If I am ever in your position, I hope that I can develop a bond with those I am explaining things to, rather than ensure a hierarchical divide!

Regardless of the horrid woman, the experience was well worth while. Walking into the theatre you stare up and see the stars coming out to play. The performance area is out in the open, if it rained or hailed or even snowed, the players would keep on playing. The poorer patrons were situated in the stalls where they would throw things at the actors if they had had one too many beverages. The thatch roof was infact, thatch (apparently the theatre had to get special permission to make the roof with thatch because a law had been passed post the 1666 fire of London that thatch roofs were forbidden in order to prevent the same devastation ever occurring again). The only issue I had was the pillars. The original pillars were made of marble ordered from Italy… these pillars were made of wood and laminated to look like they were marble, sadly the laminate was coming off which made it appear somewhat tacky.

I looked on, awe inspired and dreaming of being on the stage one day. I considered possibly if I really wanted to be on stage if I had to encounter people like my tour guide, and resolved to the fact that it was probably worth it.

When Kelly and I emerged from the Globe Tourist Shop after discussing the pro’s and con’s of me spending a small fortune on things I would probably never use, wear or look at again, the sun had come down. We still had to get across Tower Bridge – we needed to atleast accomplish some part of our original bridge to bridge plan!

We pulled our scarves tighter around our throats to ward off the impeding frost and headed in the direction of two magnificent ornate towers and in the opposite direction of every working person in the city as they made their way home.

The buildings looked magnificent in the darkness, lights beaming upon their stony presence transforming them. It is amazing how between day and night a city can take on a whole new entity. It was as if I’d never seen these streets before, a whole new experience opened up before us. The chill in the air seeped through our clothes, but with smiles on our faces and a desire to move forward in the direction of the tower over ruled the strong wish for a warm cup of tea and fresh dry socks.

Before getting to the tower itself we were fortunate to take an unexpected turn and found ourselves in a grand hall with high steel embraced window arches ceiling. Inside was a boat-shaped water fall. I could imagine during the day this would be inhabited by all the office workers of London, frequenting the different coffee shops that made the two sides of the grand hall leading out to the river. There was a market, a young Asian lady was just closing down her stall. My eyes darted to the apparel and discovered my new favourite friend. I had been wanting a smaller wallet, something I could keep in the front pocket of my jeans rather than in my bag – incase those pick pockets decided that my bright green bag was exactly what they wanted… I could almost hear and see a little person saying “yonk!” and grabbing the bag from my shoulder before dashing down the street, me looking on in bemused silence. And now, here, before me was a tiny yellow Betty Boop wallet. Just the right size… and with Betty Boop! Oh how I loved Betty Boop. I had to have it. Kelly laughed at me as I handed my six pound over and came away with a new purse and a very proud smile.

We came through the hall area, complaining that the time had come for us to eventually get home, such were our thighs, ankles and feet hurting – as much from the cold as from the walk we had taken. There had only been 15 minutes of sitting time during the whole day. But we were going to make it, it was our mission – never underestimate a womans determination!

Out along the river the trees were lit with tiny blue fairy lights, the river swept quietly on the river bank, people chitter chatted as they went passed and the click clack of heels were heard as women made their way from the office to the nearest tube station longing to get home after a long days work. Finally we came to the stunning Tower Bridge that was shining out, lights pouring over its ornate edges and it was seemingly beaming. It is impeding and beautiful. So marvellously constructed, set amongst the modernity of 21st Century London. It’s a juxtaposition in itself. To the South of the Bridge the Gherkin sheds its shimmering glass façade, and to the North a grand snail-shell-like office building creates a mix of old and new, history and the promise of future. I was most excited by the understanding that the bridge could split in two to allow large ships through – oh, what a feat. The bridge looked rock solid. I am desperate to actually see it raise up but apparently it hasn’t done so for a decade – I have every intention of writing a letter to complain and ask that it be raised so that I can see it, because otherwise, those who remember it being raised may die and then as far as I’m concerned, no one will believe that it can be raised. So in the sake of holding onto any sense of dignity, the English must raise the bridge! The petition will be sent out shortly, please have your pen at the ready.

Walking past HMS Belfast we proceeded to cross the bridge, looking left and right and left again, trying to take in all of the river views that we were lucky enough to be observing. St Katherine’s Dock that I decided I would visit another day, the Tower of London which would also need to wait until another day, with its ability to evoke a sense of reverence just by being in its presence.

It was such a day. In such a small expanse of London there is so much to see, and still more to experience. The day only gave me a renewed desire to get up early and dash about from here to there as quickly as possible, to grasp onto everything I could see. To take a little bit of London from London, and hide it deep within me.

London Bridge Tour

Kelly had arrived back from her travels in South America a week before, having visited her sister and spent some time readjusting to being home we we decided to go on the Bridge to Bridge walk – a very different walk to that which Nigel and I took every other evening around the Perth river, not as pretty admittedly, but a lot more action packed.

The plan was to see London Bridge then travel across to Tower Bridge, visit the Tower of London, go past St Pauls Cathedral and then back along Millennium Bridge. As we know, however… plans rarely come to fruition.

When we got off at London Bridge, through the hoards of people and misty rains there was a gentleman yelling out for people to speak to him regarding the ‘London Bridge’ experience. Behind him were large posters adorning the walls of blood and darkness and period dressed actors screaming for their lives. It looked brilliant! I looked at Kelly with those ‘please can we go’ puppy dog eyes, and after some discussion and a sudden surge of excitement we decided to cross the breach between living and dead and enter the London Bridge experience and related London Tombs.

Stepping into the darkness under London Bride we were met by a man dressed in 19th Century attire who swept us into a new world. The waiting area held imitation newspapers covering the decades of the life of London Bridge. A television explained briefly the history of the bridge complete with an actress performing as Queen Elizabeth II explaining the importance of the connection between South and North London,
“It may not be the most beautiful bridge in the world”, she said, “but it is one of the most historic”.
Kelly and I were not overly impressed with London Bridge, certainly not as attractive and daunting as Tower Bridge… little did we know.

We joined a group of 8 or so and were guided by the late 18th Century Butler through the dark skeleton drenched cobwebbed halls under London Bridge. After being wished goodluck upon our journey, and warned that we may not make it out alive we slowly wandered in the darkness before coming along what appeared to be some kind of Romanic wizard. Dressed in sack cloth and holding a crooked stick above a pool of blood on the cold cement floor he told us of the toils of those who existed during the original foundations of London Bridge. Warned of the darkness that was to come…

London Bridge is dated back to 55 AD and was originally a wooden construction built by the Romans during their years of English occupation. When the Romans eventually left the bridge slowly broke away and London was abandoned. Our wizard explained the turmoil of the Romanic rule, the death and destruction and what the future would hold. He sent us away with a dramatic wave of his stick, looking past the walls and into our destiny…

Suddenly a Viking woman shouted at us, “hurry! Hurry!” she said with a strong Germanic accent. Such a slight figure of a woman, and yet such a voice. We were told to stand straight against the wall of the cave that we had entered, Kelly and I looked at one another, slightly concerned and trying to hold in our nervous laughter. The Viking woman instructed us that the time had come to bring the bridge to its knees, as instructed by King Olaf in 1014. She asked to see our biceps, to hear us roar – which we all did as per her deafening request – and hop on one leg,
“stop that! You look stupid”, we all laughed before being scolded by a look that could kill. She then hurried us into an adjoining room that held three rows of two wooden benches, at the front was a wooden structure representing London Bridge with ropes attach, and to the back imagery to create the feeling you were on a Viking ship. One man was advised that he was going to be a captain of some description and given the tradition goat-horned steel Viking hat.
“PULL!” we grabbed the ropes at our feet and pulled,
“PULL!!!!” and again we pulled, being yelled at in the background by our favourite female Viking.
The London Tower before us creaked, cracked and moved. We had accomplished our mission and were told to go forth, quickly… quickly…

Moving through the dungeon-like enclosures with no light we were greeted by all sorts of horrifying ghouls. Ghosts jumped out at us, rocking chairs through windows and rats scurrying about. Heads hanging from the roof struck us in the face and water spat from the walls. Two gentlemen behind us decided it would be a good time to scream and frighten the females… they yelled right behind Kelly and I and we screamed and jumped and laughed! What a horrifying delight.

During our journey through the pits of London Bridge we encountered a specialist in the decapitation of all sorts of villains, the son, he advised, of the man who decapitated Guy Fawlks. He explained the necessary washing and tarring of the head before placing it on a peg along the bridge for all to witness. We were soon met by a gentleman wondering whether anyone was a witch, wearing a long dirt coloured cloak he pointed,
“Are you a witch?”
“Well… I used to be”, I said. Which was responded to by a look of shock, but he seemed to enjoy the possible banter,
“Why’d you give it up”,
“Oh”, I said, “Bit too dangerous these days”.
He nodded in agreement, “Oh, yes, that’s true. What with all the burnings”, he then led on to explain the old tale of how women were established as witches and why. Basically the medical profession wanted to get rid of anyone that might be taking some of their clientele, such as midwives – and anyone who questioned their processes or offered a different medical opinion regarding anything from consumption, the flu, to the plague. The women were taken to the river, if they floated they were witches and killed, if they didn’t float they weren’t witches, but were more than likely dead at any rate,
“Just as well for you then, eh?” he said with his thick London accent. I nodded in agreement,
“So, which parts’ you from then?” he asked,
“Australia”,
“Ozztraliaa?... ‘aven’t ‘eard of that. Where is it?”
“Oh you just go in that direction for a day,” I pointed behind him, “and then take a sharp right”,
“Oh”, he said and carried on his discussion of the shops that led up along London Bridge and went on to explain the first fire that occurred killing hundreds upon hundreds of people.
Kelly later asked whether she thought I’d not pronounced ‘Australia’ correctly and that he might not have realised where I was from. I suggested that because his character was based way before Australia was discovered he might have just played along. It was all thoroughly enjoyable though.

We were advised by another gentleman to bathe in our urine in order to prevent the plague, a woman warned us about walking the streets late at night for fear of Jack the Ripper who would slit a woman up and down, and all the time the walls continued to spit and howl, chained madpeople rattled at chains and ghouls lurked in dark corners to frighten us as we moved through the walkways. We were greeted by the ghost of Robert McColloch, an American entrepreneur who bought London Bridge in 1968 which was later reassembled in Arizona…

Along our 2000 year length journey we heard the stories of the people who had perished on the bridge, from Romans to Druids and Vikings, to prisoners convicted of treason for being Catholic at one time, Anglican the next and sometimes simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. We saw the dark tombs and were greeted by the essence of history along our tour. Neither of us knew that the Thames at one time had even frozen over and temporary homes, markets and stalls were set up on the thick ice around 1811. It was here that the concept of traffic ‘keeping to the left’ was invented to prevent congestion across the bridge in 1722.

So much history… and presented in such an… well lets just say intriguing and entertaining way. By the end of it Kelly and I had developed a strong bond with London Bridge. It had been built and abandoned, conquered and burnt, half burnt again in 1666. People had lived, bred and died on it, it had witnessed events and held the heads of heroes and villains. It was a slice of history and although aesthetically it didn’t out rightly present as an icon of England, it was infact the heart of London, bringing together North and South and bridging the cap of city and country. We had fallen in love with it and were exceptionally glad to have done the tour… what a marvellous start to a day.

Trafalga Square & Surrounds

I hadn’t expected it to look like this. Trafalga Square opened up before me like a dream. The large whit-paved area shone back at me with the reflection of the sun. This was what I thought London would be about, this was the place of my imaginings. Overlooking the square stood a pillared building, which I had every intention of investigating. This was yet another Gallery that was currently featuring Titian and also a few original Monet works. But first I needed to investigate Trafalga Square. When I thought of it I didn’t actually visual a ‘square’ as such… but here it was. Flanked by the Museum, the South Africa Building and a large gated structure at its far end, the square was a grassless park inside, and yet beyond, the town of London. A statue of a man on a horse overlooked the overflowing waterfall where children played with the pigeons and buskers danced to the joy of the crowd. Enormous lion statues sat on the four corners of a pillar hailing the sacrafices of British soldiers throughout the years, and within the pond directly opposite cherubs flew from the waters.

I imagine that being there alone, it would be the most peaceful of places – but here now, there was a hubbub of colours with tourists meandering around, taking photos of one another, couples sitting watching the water fountain and parents laughing lovingly at their children.

I couldn’t help but wander around looking to the skies – trying with some difficulty not to a) look like a tourist, and b) bump into every person in my vicinity. The Church holds an impressive steeple with a shining blue clock, above the museum is a gold painted steel globe, under which Lions watch over London, and further below, cherubs ensure peace and harmony in the space. All perfectly designed to delight the onlooker – I wondered how many people miss these little delicacies of sight. So may Londoners seem to miss what is right before their eyes and I was glad that I came from a place that ensured my shock and awe at experiencing all of this.

I wandered around the area with a broad smile transforming my face and my mood. Here – I was impressed, this made the whole day so much more worth while. I love being surprised. I had heard of Trafalga Square but had not researched it, thought about it… and therefore was lucky enough to have any preconceived ideas about what it would be. Expectation can so often lead to disappointment – I marvelled at my luck.

Eventually I made my way into the grand pillar-bearing museum and was prepared for something quite spectacular. When I walk into these great halls I peer about like the proverbial mere cat, as if it is a secret that I am here – waiting for someone to tell me I shouldn’t be here at all, its for the special people, not little Fiona. And yet, here I was, feeling like a naughty child about to steal a 50 cent lolly.

The hall of the building was domed – somewhat… and certainly to a lesser degree – similar to His Majesty’s Theatre in Perth (a side note that if you happy to go to that particular theatre, the dome is not actually a dome, but painted in such a way that given perspective it appears as such. The original dome apparently was smashed and it cost too much for it to be repaired… something for your next dinner party!). The kind man in the Museum allowed me to take a photo, “so long as you take it from there”, pointing to a corner… so I stood at the corner, leaned on a pillar, twisted my body to the point of falling over (meanwhile my bag had swung from my shoulder and was swinging precariously off my elbow causing more problems with my balance) and snapped the dome. “haha!” laughed the kind security guard, “fair enough”. I smiled very happily while he rolled his eyes at me and trotted off on my merry way.

I was just so happy, I wanted to talk to people. Looking back I wonder about my sanity, trying to catch other peoples eyes to share my joy and excitement. My “oh I’m lost again” and “oh! Look! Another hall filled with paintings galore” moments needed to be shared. I was so happy I almost started considering myself a complete other person and chatted away to myself in my mind about how marvellous that painting was, and how on EARTH that spot could be considered art? It was fun, I was having fun and in realising that I was having fun – had even more fun… shortly thereafter I was carried out in a straight jacket!

No… to my left were Titian paintings with a ridiculous amount of people muttering to themselves about how ‘simply marvellous’ and ‘what a feat of perfection’ etc etc and every other generic thing people aught to say when they see something that is ‘said’ to be ‘art’. I prefer to make my own mind up and at times am influenced to love or hate something on the basis of popularity – if something is popular I will hate it simply to be different… almost rebelling against society for no actual reason, to no end what so ever… and potentially simply because it makes me feel more like an individual. I think it is such a struggle to try not to be a part of the crowd, to not get swept away by the media and society generally, to retain your own free will and more importantly, your ability to decide how you feel about a certain thing – to be true to yourself in a sort of way. My heavens – I sound like Oprah! Ahhh my point is proven to spite myself!

But back to the contents of this striking museum. You have read about other museums I have been fortunate enough to frequent, with the wonderous designs throughout the ages, and this is no exception. It doesn’t matter how many museums or galleries you visit, there are always wonders to be found, images that touch you, shock you, bring some emotion from you – whether it be love or hate. I maybe like them for that reason, not only the imaginings of the people who paintined them, the people in the paintings themselves, the era that they were commissioned, but the fact there a whole lifetime can go on outside the walls of the museum, but here you are, absorbed. Not thinking of wars, of issues at home… of anything remotely related to your existence, you are simply there appreciating something, feeling something. Its escapism.

I wandered from hall to hall and room to room taking everything in, from modern to Titian forms of artwork and enjoyed every moment. After a time, however, you stop appreciating, there is only so much you can see in a day, and the time was coming for me to move on to my next destination for the day.

Walking back through Trafalga Square I took out my camera and snapped myself roaring with the lion, and looking up at the pillar – taking a moment to consider the soldiers it was dedicated to. I stood watching the water fountain for a time before realising that someone was watching me watch the water fountain. A man whom I assume was homeless was looking at me with intent and I thought it time I moved on before becoming subject for any potential criminal activity.

Back across the road I made the discovery of my lifetime… If you have ever known me at Christmas I am one of those horribly annoying people who so desperately enjoy the crooners… A bit of ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and ‘Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ by Dean Martin is an essential part of any tree decorating. I have always dreamt and wondered about these ‘roasted chestnuts’ by the fire, and holly on the door. Oh to have a white Christmas. When I crossed the road and smelt a smell I’d never smelt before I knew this was a moment. There before me, so subtle in its presence was… a roasted chestnut stall! Oh the excitement! It was a moment of utter glee. Although I didn’t buy any – not thinking they actually looked that enticing and not really being a huge fan of nuts in general – I stood looking at them, smelling them, telling the poor man selling them how I’d always wanted to see some (another straight jacket moment) and then taking a photo of me next to them. Christmas was coming, my first winter Christmas. I started singing “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” to myself, whistling through the chorus and practically skipping down the road. It is true – its always the small things that bring joy. I just wished there was someone to share my excitement.

Earlier in the day I had spoken to Nigel and we were discussing the American Presidential Elections… Nigel had told me (and ofcourse I would not know otherwise because I’d not watched the news before I left the house) that McCain had claimed victory. For the rest of the day I was thinking to myself, ‘my, that is strange… I really didn’t think he had it. And the voters? Last time I checked there was 70% poll in favour of Obama’. After walking some distance from the Chestnut stall I stopped… I growled… I thought, what a cheeky cheeky man! There infront of me was the Evening Standard stall (the main London Newspaper) announcing in great black writing “OBAMA VICTORY”. I laughed to myself and felt a presence near me. Even 12000 miles away he was still trying to make me laugh.

My next mission was to walk the Victoria Embankment. I’m still unsure why I felt the need to. Potentially because in Perth the whole city is all about the river so one would assume that every city focuses its beauty around the river… and most certainly wouldn’t let traffic interfere with your solitary moment with the stream… Not so.

However, I was not there yet. Walking along the streets alone from one destination to another is travelling in itself. This is why I’ve not had much fascination with taking a tour bus around London – there is so much that you may potentially miss. And the new and improved ‘Fiona the Discoverer’ didn’t want to miss a thing. I scooted past a shopping centre situated between arches that had been there since the 1500’s and used to be canal-like and somehow connected to the Thames themselves. Under these stones were skeletons and the essence of history.

I finally made it through to ‘Victoria Embankment’ and it wasn’t exactly what one would expect… well certainly not what I expected to see. I think I had imagined something quite like South Perth with the vast well maintained green parkland enabling families and friends to gather for barbeques and romantic escapes along the rivers’ shore. Not so. I was walking along a very busy two way, four lane’d road, with ambulances and police cars flying past, people beeping and speeding to get home from a long day at the office. It was loud, it was grey and I wondered what had possessed me to walk this walk.

Later I discovered that the Victoria Embankment was infact a very historical part of London, where the merchants unlouded their ships filled with spices and silk and all wonders of the world for “London” which was only situated on the North side of the river (the South side of the river was infact all country side until the late 1700’s). Littered here and there, and almost out of view were hidden parks. Miniature escapes from the rushing traffic. I slid into each quietly, requiring some respite (but sure not to sit down. When you walk for hours and hours and feel that sense of lethargy slowly creeping in the one worst thing that you can possibly do is sit down… there is no hope what so ever of you EVER getting up again).

I took in the peacefulness around me. Birds were even finding solace between branches that crept over forgotten-about statues of past heroes. I noticed all of the ‘keep off the grass signs’ and immediately wanted to jump up and down and dance around on the grass like a mad person (straight jacket… never ending day of Bedlam {Bedlam was infact a mental institution which is where the term comes from… hails from England as well!}). I am still blown away by the colours of the English winter, the deep orange of the leaves contrasted with the mossy emerald of the trees and the striking green of the grass, all contrasted by the pitted grey skies. I took a breath and made my way back to the taxi-ridden jungle of the road.

I came to a secret looking and fancy looking night club. There was a large Afro-Caribbean man standing out the front looking all very imposing. I smiled at him and gestured whether it was alright to take a photo. Suddenly the imposing character became a very welcoming persona and he gestured that it would be fine. I took a snap and he looked most impressed that he was in the photo. I waved him goodbye and carried on my walk feeling his smile behind me. There really are so many pleasant people in the world.

I continued my meandering as the wind was coming in with its crisp afternoon coldness. Searching in my backpack I took out my gloves and hat and hoped that it would warm me enough to prevent any unnecessary ice frosting on any obtruding areas of my body. I came across the ‘Walk About Pub’… the Walk About is the ‘place to go’ for all things Aussie. It was 4pm and there was no one there yet, but I checked out the menu. Fish and Chips, Burgers and Kangaroo – it was all there and ready for consumption. But I had come here for the English experience and had been warned off these areas by every one I knew. If I was interested in being a topless barmaid… or indeed, a topless patron, it was the place to go… I decided it might not be a pub that I would frequent, but it was nice to know where other Australians were incase I became dreadfully home sick and wanted to discuss Rove and all things Australian. I took a photo and carried on, feeling none-the-better for the gloves and hat.

Along the path and across the road was a mural dedicated to soldiers. Being so close to Remembrance Day, the mural was littered with red poppys. I smiled at that and took a moment to consider it.

I walked past the original London School and heard children coming from the gates with accents that implied ‘good breeding’, even when they swore it sounded like the most well-to-do word you had ever heard. The school itself is almost completely fenced in, as is the beautiful park that surrounds it. The park reminded me of ‘Notting Hill’, if you’ve seen it, the moment that Hugh Grant takes Julia Roberts into a secret walled park that no one is generally allowed in. I felt like the poor lil match girl staring in.

I had finally made it to a bridge… I wasn’t entirely sure which bridge until looking later. It is called ‘Blackfriars Bidge’, and a busy bridge it is. Traffic both mechanical and humour whizzed along it from one side of London to another. I, on the other hand, was quite happy to stand and stare, taking in the façade of London from one aspect and then, another. It was impressive. Stretching further than the eye can see, and effort made to ensure that, although functional, it remained architecturally pleasing. I could see the London Eye staring back at me through the mist of rain that started to lightly descend overhead. The street lights flickered on as I wandered slowly, and tiredly, across the bridge. When I saw what I call the Kiss Hug Kiss building (generally considered the XOX building… I figure it is always important to read between the lines… I seem to be the only one who knows what it means! Every time I mention the Kiss Hug Kiss building I am met with stares of confusion and incredulity… I figure I am simply right, and they… are simply wrong). I loved simply staring at the bridges across the city, the boats moored up, the roman, Victorian and more modern style buildings littering the river-line, I was so excited to be there. Just me. And it was becoming even more beautiful as the sun was descending, the buildings’ lights shining out creating a whole new world that I’d not yet seen.

As I write this, sitting comfortably in my room with Cat Stevens singing in the background, I realise what a day it was. It has been more than a week since this all happened and I finally understand why I feel the need for a few days solitude and quietness – simply to get over the enduring hike. “So this explains why my jeans don’t fit!” I say to myself, stunned and impressed at the same time.

Having made it across the bridge I came to the conclusion that the sun was going down and I was partially frozen, even with my white-stitching lined black leather gloves and black beret… it was time to head in the general direction of ‘home’. No more adventures for today.

As I wandered back along the South Bank to where I’d been days before my heart was taken adrift with blue fairy lights scattered in the trees and lining the length of my walking journey. It was so peaceful and movie-moment perfect. My tiredness and coldness was overcome by a sense of peace. The Thames was rough and I could hear it slapping against the bank, there was a light mist of music wavering through the frosty winds and people laughing and chatting as I wandered past them. A skate park appeared to my left, while St Pauls Cathedral rose up across the river on my right. I moved past the National Theatre writing in my ‘do again list’ to pop in some time soon. While walking under the arches of another bridge that crossed the river I found a book stall, everything for a pound! Most exciting, but I was in urgent need of some warmth so I continued on my journey knowing that I had various books at home that I was dying to get my teeth in to. The time had not yet come to start my own library.

I drifted along the walkway, past a merry-go-round that, had my sister been there, we would have frequented with giggles, and further along to the London Eye. A statue of a man holding an umbrella appeared before me… I was most interested because I’d been through this area before and hadn’t seen that particular statue – must be something for Christmas, I thought to myself. I took out my camera and prepared to take a photo of the statue with the London Eye rising up in the background… and then, almost fell over (fortunately I was kneeling in such a way that shock could not over come my balance)… the statue moved! This silvery umbrella carrying statue was infact a busker – and a very good one at that. I noticed that I was not alone in my shock, a Japanese couple almost fell into the Thames with the ‘jump-back’ shock that the pseudo statue had caused. I could help but smile as I wandered past him and in the general direction of a tube station. What a day – it was time to go home.

It was Guy Fawlks Night. I had no chance of a quiet evening… not when it comes to fire works. I love fire works, I’ve always loved fire works. I think if you don’t experience a thing overly often, it is entirely common for you to be completely obsessed with that said thing later in life. And fireworks are certainly a weakness of mine. I remember being a very small child and sitting at home on New Years Eve, Mum and Dad having allowed us to stay up very late to watch the fire works on the television from around the world. Well, here I was in London and it was Guy Fawlks… there was no way I was staying in the house and not taking advantage of this very personally-historic moment.

When I returned to the house I organised a quick cup of tea, said a hello to Mark (Nigel’s brother) and freshened up. Swapping jumpers and recharging my camera, I asked Mark where would be a more appropriate place to see the fire works in full swing. He suggested I head to Clapham Common, which was only a tube station away. There was a buzz of excitement – this was my first night out in London technically… I just hoped it would go smoothly.

After having my cup of tea, I slung my backpack back on my back and wandered out the door with a joyful cheerio to all secluded in the central-heating warmth.

Getting out at Clapham Common was an experience in itself. I can very very safely say that I have never, ever in my short life seen so many people. It was a sea of faces, smiling faces. Adults, children, couples, families, people dressed to impress and those that had come from work. I could not see a street, a shop… and certainly not anything that even slightly resembled a ‘common’. There were Police everywhere, trying to ensure everyone got to their destination peacefully.

People were wielding fluorescent globes, wearing fluorescent necklaces, cameras danced above the heads of the crowd and flags danced upon the horizon. I was in the throng, along but strangely feeling very safe in the moment. I could hear music blaring from the distance and was swept along in its direction by the swaying crowd.

The atmosphere was intoxicating, everyone was smiling at one another, whether friends or strangers. Oddly I ended up at the front of a fence that rotated all around the very large open space of Clapham Common, with atleast fifteen rows of people staring toward the common, behind me. To my left was a couple holding one another and kissing at appropriate intervals. The music blaring came from a sound system in the middle of the common where one would assume, the fireworks would appear.

I was quite happy just being there, listening to the conversations, laughter and general banter of the people surrounding me, but then… at 7.30pm a BOOM was carried through the area and the crowd was immediately silenced. Suddenly the sky was lit up in green and the purple, with the fizz and hiss of fireworks igniting the frosty winter skies. The ahhhs and ooohhhs from the crowd, I could not help but join in. Even if I wanted to, I could not have kept a straight face, so strong was my smile and awe at the scene. Being here, with these people, in London… alone, watching fireworks and listening to music blare across the skies… it was all too much, it was all fantastic… it was everything I wanted.

What a day…