London Calling

As I’ve been a sorry excuse for a blogger lately, it seemed fair to refer interested readers–all three of you–to the blog of Samuel Pepys.  Not exactly current events, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a better account of daily life in London.  Enjoy…

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          Photo courtesy of Maya, age 5

We’ve just concluded a wonderful visit with family from the states.  My 8 year old neice, Nell, has captured the details of her trip in a wonderfully executed blog.  Her nightly diligence has forced me to confront the slacker within.  Not a pretty sight, though her blog sure is.  Give it a read…

http://nellaround.blogspot.com/

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We’ve spent the last 9 months living within bowling distance of Lord’s Cricket Ground.  Sadly, the Cricket season ended soon after our Autumn arrival and Lord’s has remained dormant until recently.  Monday was my introduction to the English national pastime.  The setting was day 5 of a test match between England and the West Indies.  All the elements were there: athletes in starched white uniforms, a steel-hard, 5.5 ounce ball with two sets of stitches straddling its seamed equator, bats that appear designed for punishing boys in a Dickensian orphanage, pitchers of Pimms and lemonade, and plenty of pints to alternatively stir or sedate the crowd.

England came in with an overwhelming lead in hopes of holding off a last inning miracle by the West Indian batsmen.  But, as is apparently common on the cricket pitch, victory was elusive.  Not because the English and West Indian players weren’t up to the task.  Not because the teams played through lunch and tea and on to sundown without resolution.  The pitch was ruled by rain clouds that settled over Lord’s about 30 minutes into the match and, while never producing more than a sprinkle, were reluctant to leave the grounds before sundown.  The tarps came out, the few fans retreated to their pints and the game was eventually ruled a draw. 

Fortunately, I’ll get another chance next week.  Middlesex v. Somerset for some local action.

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Watching tourists have their photo taken at the iconic Abbey Road crosswalk has become a standard part of our walks to and from school.  We swear as they hold up traffic, snicker as they shoot their photo from the wrong direction, and marvel at their occassional creativity–a quartet doing handstands across the zebra stripes.  After several hundred crossings and thousands of tourist photographers and models it was a sweet pleasure to spot something new at this Mecca for fans of the Fab Four…

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Puddle on pavement

Fragrant blossom hides blue sky

Could this be London?

London sun so rare

This year light and warmth to spare

Global warming comes

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Living without a car has turned us into devotees of the London public transport system.  However, we do find ourselves hopping into a taxi on occasion.  The iconic London Black Cab, descended from the horse-drawn Hackney carriages of the Empire’s heyday, are the publicly sanctioned conveyance of choice in this city.  Black Cab drivers are invariably courteous, entertaining, generous with advice and, above all, knowledgeable about navigating this haphazardly laid out maze of narrow alleys, roundabouts, one-way roads and obscure street names(they don’t call it Piccadilly Circus for nothing).

Unlike New York, North America’s yellow cab capitol and home of the prohibitively priced “medallion” of NYC Taxi and Limousine Commission fame, London has no limit on taxi permits.  Also unlike New York, however, London cabbies have to pass a comprehensive test proving their competence as drivers and knowledge of the city.  ”The Knowledge,” as it is known here, includes a detailed familiarity with the 25,000 streets within a 6 mile radius of Charing Cross Station, general knowledge of major arterial routes into and around London, and the location of a plethora of “squares, clubs, hospitals, hotels, theatres, government and public buildings, railway stations, police stations, courts, diplomatic buildings, important places of worship, cemeteries, crematoria, parks and open spaces, sports and leisure centres, etc, etc…”  You get the picture.

It’s not uncommon to see drivers-in-training navigating city streets on scooters with clip boards to familiarize themselves with the 400 “runs” that comprise the Blue Book of common routes on which the London Carriage Office test is based.  On a recent ride I was informed that it takes a minimum of 2 years to prepare for and pass the test, while some cabbies have taken as many as 17 to get their license, presumably while preoccupied with another career.  As we wound our way from Bloomsbury to Maida Vale in the wee hours, the same driver serenaded me with a medley of Ol’ Blue Eyes hits in a lovely voice, reminiscent of a young Chet Baker.  I’d pay that 10 pounds again.

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Softball???  Yup. Gotta keep these young city girls busy.

Thanks to the local youth sports organization, London Sports, we ex-pat dads can live out our weekend warrior fantasies, vicariously, through our children.  in addition to seasonal soccer and basketball, London Sports sponsors weekend softball and little league for kids, age 6-13, in the balmy spring months.  This season started with a pair of clinics–one for parent coaches and one for the kids–run by former major leaguers, Denny Doyle and Paul Hatzell, in conjunction with the Major League Baseball Alumni Association.  A great opportunity to learn skills from the pros(a kid benefit) and hear inside tips and tales of the game(a parent treat).  Now everyone take a knee!

(That’s Erin, back row on the left, in blue)

Home field for all activities is the Wormwood Scrubs Nature Reserve, a large open space in the Hammersmith Borough of West London.  In the shadow of notorious Wormwood Scrubs Prison, it’s a bit hard and a bit dirty.  The athletic fields, such as they are, have been designed as football pitches and our kids share the rugged facilities of the adjacent Linford Christie Track Stadium with crowds of burly, testosterone fueled weekend footballers.  But London Sports has done an admirable job of acquiring and organizing time, space and equipment for several hundred boys and girls in six leagues to get a dose of the American national pastime on foreign soil.

Erin and I will see you at The Scrubs!

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The distinct odor of horse manure hovered over St. John’s Wood this morning, a sign that the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery is afoot.  Barracked and stabled here on and off since the Napoleonic wars, this regiment exists primarily for ceremonial functions.  Their annual calendar includes the Lord Mayor’s Parade, Remembrance Day, and the Queen’s Birthday.  We ocassionally here the echoing boom of their cannon fire from rehearsals over at Hyde Park.

The last three mornings 120 horses in training, some pulling artillery caissons with mounted cannons, have closed down traffic at the busy intersection of Wellington and Grove End.  The quarter mile procession winds its way along Grove End to Abbey Road, turning to cross the famed zebra-striped crosswalk before passing in front of Abbey Road studios and disrupting traffic on into the morning fog.

Where do they go from here?  I guess I’ll have to find out…

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Pitcombe, Kewstoke, Shipham, Cheddar.

Bagborough, Nailsea, Redcliff Bay.

Portishead, Blagdon, Halse, Chew Magna.

Winscombe, Fivehead, Wootton Courtenay.

Axbridge, Shapwick, Huish Episcopi.

Haselbury Plucknett, Weston-Super-Mare.

Ditcheat, Fivehead, Evercreech, Combwich.

Withypool, Nether Stowey, Rorlock Weir.

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Another short and sweet Guardian gem not to be missed, Guy Browning’s “How to…” column.  This week, keeping it simple…

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