A Grand Day Out

I feel it as soon as I step off the train and walk out of the terminal onto Euston Street – a sense of calm, a feeling of coming home. There’s this thing about London that never changes. Buildings come and go, as do the people, but the city’s soul is constant.

I’ve popped over from the Shire for a quick day trip. These tickets have been postponed a couple of times due to life events and other shenanigans, but now I’ve finally managed to get myself sorted and I’m standing here looking up at the red brick wonder of London St Pancras station. Well, I’m looking at it’s good side anyway. We won’t talk about the new bit.

I’ve got a full itinerary planned for the eight hours I’ll be here, but first on the list is the traditional jaunt down to the Thames. So, I wander up to Euston tube station and hop on the southbound Northern Line to Embankment and find myself bathed in sunshine as I exit at street level and make my way up the stairs to the Jubilee Street foot bridge. The river sparkles in the morning light. Looking over the east side of the city, I see all the glittering new towers of glass and steel and the perpetual dance of bright red cranes. The new blends with the old as my gaze sweeps back towards the white stone ediface of Somerset House. This skyline never fails to impress.

I cross the bridge to South Bank, pop into one of those chain coffee places for an oat milk latte, and saunter along the river for a bit just soaking it all in. It’s been years since I was last here. Lots of Londoners and visitors are out on this fine spring day. People walk their dogs, chat on benches, take photos, and eat sandwiches leaning over the railings. Passenger ferries zip along on the water. I have always loved this river.

When I was a kid, we lived in London for a few years and mum would bring us into the city for regular excursions. I was of an age where everything made a big impression and this river became a keystone around which all my fondest childhood memories are built.

Checking my watch, I realise I’m going to have to get a wriggle on. I’ve got a date with my sister in Hampstead to have lunch and I hate to be late. Draining my cup I look around for a bin, but it seems London has decided bins are a bit of a safety risk as there isn’t a rubbish receptacle in sight. I have to chuck my empty cup in my bag and hotfoot it back over the bridge to jump on the northbound Northern Line to Hampstead station. Then it’s a pleasant trundle down Hampstead High Street to Ottolenghi’s for a very lovely lunch with Em, Harry and baby Gabriel. Gabriel is adorable and very well behaved. He charms the waiter. He giggles at me. He is a pint sized source of bonhomie.

After lunch, we take a walk around Hampstead Heath and I am struck by the number of dogs running around off the lead and being very good. The Heath is busy with happy smiling people enjoying the good weather, but we are able to walk the paths and take in the budding green life that is emerging from its wintery slumber with little hindrance.

Em and I part at Belsize Park and I jump back on the tube, southbound again towards Leicester Square. I emerge into a cacophony of music and traffic and multiple demonstrations jostling for space on Trafalgar Square. I join the queue for the National Gallery, but as luck would have it they open up a second entrance and I’m able to walk straight in.

I head immediately for room 43, the Van Gogh room. There are a few other artists in there too but I only have eyes for the rhythm and swirls of A Wheatfield with Cypresses. Sure, the Sunflowers are amazing, but there’s something about Wheatfield that makes my heart soar.

After admiring the Cezanne’s, and a lovely new find in High Tide by Jan Toorop, I move on to the Turner hall and the room that houses Constable. It is something sublime to see these paintings up close and personal. To examine the brush strokes, the use of colour, to feel the energy of movement and passion. I hear the roaring wind in Constable’s trees. I bask in the light and smoke of Turner’s seascapes. I notice details I have never seen before. This is the power of art.

After an hour and half, my eyes are drunk on paint and I head for the exit, but not before stopping to admire the beautiful painting of Dr Jane Goodall by Wendy Barrett, winner of the Portrait Artist of the Year competition. It is the perfect ending to my tour.

Next stop is the London Graphic Centre to do a spot of browsing. I shouldn’t but I can’t help picking up a couple of things. Art supply shops, like book shops and stationery shops, are my weakness. This is a particularly attractive shop, with its brick facade and its West End location. The marquees are bright with familiar faces and plays. I fight the desire to stop at a box office for a ticket. Maybe next time.

By now my feet are starting to complain and the time to head back to St Pancras is drawing near. I don’t want to spend my last hour here underground, though, so I ignore my muscles and trace a route back to Euston Street through the back streets of Camden. This takes me through Russel Square Gardens, one of my favourite spots, and I take a moment to sit on a bench and enjoy the hubbub.

It’s been a simply lovely day. I make a promise to myself to return sooner rather than later. Maybe next time I can track down a lost river or two and take a tour around the Tate. I snap a few final pictures and smile at the converted telephone box that is now a curio shop. London constantly changes but it’s amusing to see how it still holds on to those icons that keep the pounds flowing in.

As I step back onto the train I blow a kiss to my old home town. I’ll be back soon, my old friend.