Our flight left on Monday. We were grateful that we had paid for Economy Plus in order to get 12 extra inches of legroom. A screaming child behind me kept banging on the back of my seat, so I took a couple of sleeping pills, put up the armrest and went right to sleep. Bob and the guy on the other side of me kept waking me up, poking at me. Bob said I was kicking him. I don’t know what form of treachery and mischief I was commiting upon the guy on the other side. Maybe he was just the sort who likes poking people. I was pulled aside to be searched at LAX, and we were momentarily detained at Heathrow. Apparantly I am considered somewhat of a national threat.
One of the luxuries of traveling as a grown-up non-backpacker is being able to take the occasional taxi. We took advantage, and had a comfortable ride to the guest house. Everything was grey and the sky was hung with ominous, pregnant skies. The cabbie asked where we were from. “California? You brought the sunshine with you!” Bed and Breakfasts in England are not like B&Bs in the US. They are more like flophouses. Guest houses are like B&Bs without the four-poster beds and Laura Ashley frou-frou. You get a normal, middle-class guest room, a shared bath and a decent breakfast. It’s kind of like staying with your Auntie Margaret.
We had a wonderful meal at the Troubadour (no, there were no hair bands there). Although it was decorated like a pub, with pew-like seats and mugs on the wall, it was light and airy thanks to large picture windows and a green patio out back. I had a rich cream of wild mushroom soup, and Bob and I split their house specialty – a Sirloin hamburger with British bacon on it. We also split the toffee pudding which was both light and rich at the same time. There is a magic moment when sugar teeters between caramalizing and burning. They caught the dessert at that perfect moment.
Everyone was really chatty and friendly. I had remembered everyone in London as being brusque and unfriendly. Maybe times have changed. Or maybe it was because I am older and better-dressed. Or maybe it was because I was still kind of high from the sleeping pills. We walked through Old Brompton Cemetary so I could photograph the cool angel statuary, then we were back at the house and asleep by 7pm.
The Troubadour 263-267 Old Brompton Road London SW5 9JA 020 7370 1434
St. Johns 26 St. John Street London EC1M 4AY 020 7251 0848
St. Moritz 161 Wardour Street London W1V 3TA 020 7734 3324 161
