Picaddilly / West End & Soho

I left the house at 10.30am the next morning after having a long chat to dear Nigel, telling him about my exciting adventures and my impressions of London so far. My photo’s looked fantastic and it was alost like revisiting them as I edited picture after picture on my laptop.


Today the sun was not shinning. The clouds had come in and winter had officially arrived. I was told that I was unlikely to see the sun again for a few months unless I decided to cross the channel and visit France some time soon (which I noted in the back of my mind to look up costs of flights and ferries to France).

I made my way again to Tooting Bec Station and back through to Stockwell where I changed lines and came up again at Green Park. It does make me slightly concerned that I am actually zooming on a train under the Thames… not entirely sure whether it is as safe as people may think and images from films where water comes rushing through the tunnel killing all the train passengers keeps me villigent on my journey. At the same time, however, I was trying hard to look like a Londoner and had my hat and scarf tightly wound, my ipod earphones in (turned low so I could hear any necessary announcements) and was reading my book. This alone made me grin… but could they tell? Did they know who I was? That I wasn’t one of them??? Nothing is more exciting than the simple things in life.

Coming out at Green Park I needed to find Picadilly Circus… My new mission… to find really really big lights. I followed the crowd… and a crowd it was indeed. The throng dispersed at a causeway and there, opening up before my eyes was Piccadilly Market, a very quaint small market, but a market none the less. It was right under a church and I diverted from my route to discover the treasures.

They had all the usual bits and pieces, everything I would have bought had I not been travelling and wanting to look after my money. I wanted the journal, the jewellery, the tourist tat… everything on display. So I kept my hands in my pockets and wandered back out and down the street. The next thing I came to was just as bad! A book store… an enormous book store, very clean and modern and warm and friendly. The books simply surrounded me… more journals, more pens… beloved stationery… again, I needed to escape before my consumerist tendencies over took me…

And again… another shock, I stood before the Ritz! The Ritz… who knew, and there it was, smiling at me… laughing maybe, that I was just as excited to see books as I was The Ritz. My sister and I had spoken about going there, being rich and going to the Ritz. I took a happy snap, put my smile in check to ward off any pick pockets and continued my way down the street…


It took some time but finally, after stopping and starting and street walking down alley ways and simply being distracted by positively everything that I saw… finally… I came to Piccaddilly Circus… it was hard to miss. Suddenly, before me, around a corner… lights, movie screens about three times the height of me, beaming down commercials about phones, movies, plays, toilet paper… I immediately conjured up images of New York I had seen on TV. It was fantastic… it was like a ‘proper’ city and I was impressed.

It seemed that everyone else was impressed as well. Flashes were snapped, people waving, smiling, hugging and laughing. A very positive energy that was just a little too much for me. I needed a quite respite before continuing on my journey through the throng of people. I took a quick left and then a quick right and finally found a little street with no one at all walking it. Ahhh the relief. Just a bit of quiet, a big breath, before I tried to conquer the drama of Picaddilly. I was wandering up the quiet street and then again, without any reason or effort, a huge screen drew itself infront of my eyes and advertisements for “Grease” the Musical struck me in the face. This was certainly a Tiffany / Fiona place! I smiled and took another right and found myself at a church. There was no one there at all, not a noise, not a bird… just me. I wandered up the stairs and plonked myself on a bench and took in the scenery. I took out my camera and recorded a video for Nigel. I had been taking him everywhere I went, speaking to him through my camera and letting him see my reactions to certain places. I wanted him to be there with me and was so thankful for my lil green fluorescent camera, bridging the space between the southern and northern hemispheres. Strangely, I didn’t feel alone. I was afraid that doing this trip would be sad, that I would feel alone and feel like it wasn’t as important as it is… indeed, I miss people… but I don’t at any stage feel alone. I don’t feel scared or worried…I feel at peace, like I belong. It is so much easier than I ever imagined and just as much fu as I could of hoped for. Its moment like that when I realise that I’ve done the right thing, that I’m not leaving anyone behind, but only taking myself on experiences that I so longed for all of my life. I feel like I’m living.
Having taken stock of this experience I wandered back through Picadilly. By this time the rain started in and the freezing water was dripping off my beret and onto my nose. It was getting to the point that I couldn’t talk at all, my lips were frozen and I thought they might soon peel off.

I came upon another theatre, and then another. Everywhere I turned there was a theatre. Les Miserable was playing, seeing the poster was quite pivitol for me. The first musical I ever saw was Les Miserable and thus started my love of theatre. The same company was running it as I had seen so many years ago. Seeing it here, in its home, it took me a moment to breath in the significance before my eyes wandered off again and behold, Rain Man was in production… the Twelfth Knight, another play based on Checkov… everything, all there, within my grasp. I didn’t actually go in to any of the theatres, I was off, I was running about the streets trying to take everything in all at the same time, but it was impossible. I turned down one street and there was a theatre, I turned down another and there was Ronnie Scotts, one of the more well known jazz clubs (this went on my list of things to ‘re-do’).

I walked on and discovered the Royal Acadamy of Arts which was showing a Byzantine exhibition (again, my pen and paper out to enter on my re-do list). The Academy is yet another building of huge proportions like nothing I had seen before. In the quadrangle there stood a modernist sculpture, the area had a sense of regality to it… I felt a little wimpered, small in comparison. It feels like a place for the more wealthy. The day after I looked this place up on the internet to discover that indeed, it is for the more frivolous of art-lovers. They hold great debates there and some amazing exhibitions, all at the glorious price of around 30 to 50 pound… a little out of my range until I get myself a job I suspect, but I will go back there and see if I can just have a gander for free.

I carried on my merry way. To the left I could see the National Portrait Gallery (placed on list) and various enormous buildings that promised new and exciting sites. But today was not about art review, it was about seeing every street I possibly could. I felt like I was in some strange reality game, I had to collect all of the clues to win the money, or save the princess. It is hard not to get swept away in the speed of the tourists, the music and lights, being bombarded from every which way. I was getting frustrated again, there was too much to see, I didn’t know whether to go left or right, there was something down every street.

I ended up walking into the Rain Forest Café which is exceptionally bizarre to have in London. The café itself was rammed with people, all taking a number and waiting patiently for an hour in order to sit and have a chip basket in the pretend rainforest (inclusive of water fall). I wandered away from the enormous line and looked in the gift store. There were plastic ferns and plastic frogs, plastic insects and plastic crocadiles. A large plastic python swung from the roof, it moved when you touched it and the crocodile in the plastic river swung its tail as children looked and pointed and asked Daddy if they could have one. It was certainly unique.


I left the who-ha of the café and continued down the street, losing myself in my twists and turns and came upon a small park where a statue of Charlie Chaplain greeted me. I said hello and he pointed me to the centre of the park where a live X-Box show was going on. People were pressing to get into the tent to see the latest technology. A man was on a stage pretending to sing in tune to the music in the background while the screen displayed that same man in cartoon form. I laughed, thinking of how excited Nigel would be to see this and turned back to carry on my walk… I almost slipped and fell and looked down to see the grass had turned to mud, exceptionally slippery mud and certainly not West Australian mud. This was proper mud and I found it quite entertaining sliding over it to get back to the path way.

I thought that I had stayed in the general area of Picadilly Circus, but infact, had some how spent the hour wandering through to Oxford Circus… never has there been a busier street. There were people everywhere, dispite the cold and rain. Shops opened up one after another and Ive never seen shops of such magnitude. A CD store that seemed to go on for days, clothing departments that went six floors up. I dared not enter for fear of never coming out, or at the very least, spending all of the money I had on me. I realised that I needed to use the ladies and that was a task in itself.


My next mission was to find a toilet and as if by magic, McDonalds sung out before my eyes. The bright M in the sky which throughout the world means… free public toilet! Generally speaking they are also better than public public toilets because there is someone there to maintain them, and this was no exception. McDonalds itself was different to those in Australia. It was faster than those in Australia, better organised, but like Australia, was ridiculously busy… I wondered if these people had heard about where the meat comes from and the fact that the cheese is made of plastic? There were three tills and then a que to collect your food. The customer went to the first till to order, the second till to pay, I don’t know why there was a third till, but there it was and then joined the que to obtain their food. Having no intention of actually eating McDonalds I wandered in search of the loo.

The toilet was downstairs and upstairs… from the exterior (and this is similar of many stores in London) McDonalds looks miniature. It is not until you step through the threshold that you see a whole world of tables open up and generally there are a few floors. This Oxford Street McDonalds had three floors, one upstairs and one downstairs. I scooted downstairs following the universal sign for ‘relieve yourself’. Thankgod… but then, there was a que… ofcourse there was a que. I had not gone to the toilet since 8am and it was now about 1pm… I heard a “fuck” and an “oh shit” from the toilet… wondering what exactly the person was getting up to, along with everyone else in the que, a lady then came out of one of the cubicles, trousers wet from the crouch down, “the toilet is over flowing!”, and apparently they all were. A travesty! The cleaner grabbed her stick and advised that no one else was to go through… the que suddenly dispersed but when the cleaner was looking the other way I pounced. I took it upon myself to use the last cubicle that seemed alright and peed as quickly as possible. As quickly as possible ended up being a ten minute ordeal… I had put that much clothing on it took me a few minutes to undress myself and my body was not having a bar of it. There was a bang at the door advising that the toilets were not in use. Finally, after trying to explain my situation to the cleaner I was done, I washed, looked at my terribly flushed face and matted post-beret hair and dashed from McDonalds with a clearer mind.

I am not a fan of Oxford Street… however this is just my first impression. I’m not overly interested in shopping for hours on end, I don’t see the point in labels… give me a market and I will give you my time. However my distaste for the place may have been inspired by the multitudes of people… people and people and people and never ever have I seen more umbrellas in my short little life…

I turned a corner… yes, another corner… and as I say again and again, a corner is not a corner in London, it is a discovery. Around this particular corner a man played the electric guitare, people milled around in peace, the vibe was warm and relaxed, it was like I had entered a whole ‘nother town… this was Carnaby Street. When I saw the sign above my head, held between two 18th Century buildings, I remembered that I’d heard of Carnaby Street and now I new why. It was a cobble street area with little pubs, little shops, little everything, all petite and pristine and perfect. All welcoming you in with open arms. People were pottering through aimlessly and it was as if I found a new family. My pace finally slowed and I looked up to the skys, then across the streets, I could just stand here for hours… The atmosphere was so contrite, I felt happy, and that happiness swept over me as I peered through windows of music stores, old book stores, into cafes and restaurants. I stood listening to the jazz man and threw him a few coins, which was appreciated by a nod in my direction as the next cord struck out. Carnaby Street goes on the list for extra exploration…

Still wandering along aimlessly I found Cheers… I’m not sure whether this is “the” Cheers, assuming that it was an American show… however it said Cheers and there was a necessary moment for a photo. Then, turning around was a neon sign advising “Plant Hollywood” and again I thought of my sister. So many things that we would appreciate together. There was a crowd of people so I decided to appreciate it from a far and took a photo before moving on. There are arcades filled with specialty stores, all highly priced for the tourist trade, you are forced to go down them simply due to the picturesqueness, not like Perth arcades… this are built with purpose, the lighting and the displays, all of it is appealing and makes one want to put their hand in their pocket. I dipped in and out and round about and tried to prevent any unnecessary spending. However there were so many things I wanted to buy for others… my Mother would love that necklace, my Dad would adore that Print, Tiffany needs that poster… Brett… comics! Nigel should have that shirt, that key ring… this… that… this… that, its never ending. It is a shopaholics dream.

And an alcoholics dream as well. There was a pub on every corner, each of them advising live music, jazz, the best food in Britain… and all presented beautifully in a welcoming traditional manner, and each had100 people sitting, eating, chatting and drinking. I decided not to go into these, preferring the open (yet frost-bitten) air of the outside…there was still too much to do and see and I was not ready to relax just yet. The hubbub of the people was intoxicating and the time had come to journey on further…when I discovered something else entirely.

Soho is a party district apparently. I’ve been told that it is the Gay Hub of London, and it is very cool indeed. There is a really nice vibe, fantastic looking eateries, restaurants and clubs, and some very intriguing people to-boot. I was dying to go into some of the Jazz places, music is something I came to London for. I don’t know much about music, but I know what I like and I like Jazz. It appears that this is the place to go. Again, one street leads onto another that has more things to surprise and amaze, it was here that I met up with Mark to continue my experience in and around the West End, Soho and Picadilly vicinity.

Mark took me to aplace that I shall be eternally grateful for, it is a toy store named Hammersleys. Hammersleys has five floors, all filled to the brim with every toy of your dream. To make-it-yourself bears, to flying machines and monsters. There are board games you didn’t even thing existed, collectors items and barbies, princesses and mechanical puppies. It is enormous and impressive and makes you think of Christmas as a child. The smell of plastic and paper and card board… there were masses of people but I didn’t seem to care. Going up and down the escalators like I was a child myself.

Mark and I escaped the mahem, waving to an assistant dressed up as the Evil Queen in Snow White as we went. The police were out in force, directing traffic and giving directions to tourists, their up-side-down pot hats keeping the rain from their red cheeks. Mark wanted to show me some of the random stores. We worked our way back to Carnaby Street after partaking in a Lasagne and tea in a corner store near by. Mark was amazed to hear that “I’ve seen that”, “and I saw that”… realising that, yes indeed, I had spent the last four or so hours running about trying to collect all of the streets in my mind for later review. I had not, however, entered any of the stores. I’d been too busy.

It is difficult for me, someone who has always had direction and never gone out without a purpose, to meander. The entire time I was running around I had a sense that I needed to get somewhere, but never knew where. I was like a hamster on a wheel, constantly running without any result… I realised that I needed to take my touristing down a pace and start focusing on one thing at a time rather than doing it all at once. My mother always told me that I wanted to run before I could walk and I finally understood what she meant.

Mark took me to a small Japanese store that possessed every lil crazy plastc creature you could imagine, and all I could think about was Brett. Brett would love this, I’d say, Brett would think this is fantastic. I wished Brett was there, he would get so much out of the quirky art scene, the comic underground. It was fascinating and fun. Mark and I played with the gadgets and the bits and pieces on display, before discussing how some of the characters were rather scary and wondered what the children of tomorrow would be like. Back in the day we had barbies that didn’t do much more than dress like a princess, now you have monsters that run around after you with a camera that is somehow hooked up to a computer so someone on the other side of the world can watch you. It is a crazy state of affairs.

We walked into a few different stores, taking in the crazy objects and their even crazier prices, discussing the affect on society. I was excited to play with things, to see things, a cheese grater shaped like a woman with a toy on the top, purses that in the light changed into something else completely. There was everything you could imagine… Willy Wonker had nothing on this place… and infact it was like being in Willy Wonka’s factory. Mark laughed as I played and jiggled and giggled with the bits and pieces, but never did I purchase… this is not the place to buy. This is the place to look and scoff at the prices. Never buy in a tourist area is apparently the key.

We were, however, in search of a journal. Mark took me to a few different stores, but finding a journal, the right journal, can be a warrying task. We went to three stores before realising that the sun had gone down, the rain was not easing and it was certainly time to go home.

We took the tube back to Tooting Bec and with wet heads, soaked clothes and minds filled with inane objects settled in for an evening of talking, eating and watching TV. I decided to make bangers and mash with pees and corn to remind me of home. Mark was delighted with the feast (a little larger than he is used to but still) and I ascended to my bed room by about 10.30pm… what an intriguing and mad day…