"You Had to Pick a Sunday, Didn't You?"

So, three solo nights in the Carsenome. 

Sounds unbelievable, but it actually did happen.

And here's how...

FRIDAY 8th JULY

Fears about the weather abound, as travelling in heat is not much fun for me. Recent events have made this trip even more desirable than usual, yet I have refrained from making any plans of possible things to do. (Part of me fears the whole thing could still come crashing down around my ears, although latest bouts of illness have almost certainly been stress-related and domestically based. Indeed, all vestigial traces disappeared somewhere around the Doncaster area).

High levels of security at York station was an unexpected oddity, and the total lack of any view from the train window was a slight disappointment. But at least it prevented me from looking at fields in a professionally curious way, and as I had already had my share of work-related phonecalls that morning, I was starting to feel I was due some time off.

King's Cross is a delightfully squallid station which absolutely discourages any notion of lingering or dilly-dallying.

With a foyer always packed to straining point with departure board junkies, the external surrounding area is never any less crowded, and is a haven for dispossessed smokers having their first (or last) London nicotine fix.

(And if you think I'm going to make a cheap point regarding smoking bans, you can think again. The first time I ever went "down south" was shortly after the King's Cross fire in 1987. And as much as I love the Underground now, I bet I wouldn't have loved it so much if it reeked of ancient cigarette smoke).

All well and good, and soon I was heading Underground and south, savouring the exciting and exotic names so familiar from childhood dreams, and eventually emerging somewhere in the vicinity of...

And just around the corner is the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, which as a lifelong fan of Hinge & Bracket was excitement enough before dumping bags, slaking thirst and heading into town without much of a plan other than to gawk in a bumpkin fashion.

Catching the Friday afternoon rush around Whitehall was probably not the best idea, but it did allow for some good sightseeing, especially since my spur of the moment wander to Forbidden Planet was not a success.

Back on the hot Underground, and the evening drinking and talking rubbish.

Brilliant.

SATURDAY 9th JULY

Despite having all the delights and excitement of The City within easy grasp just outside the window, mornings will take a lazy theme for the next few days.

Which is certainly no bad thing, and makes sense in light of my total lack of planning.

So, taking advantage of a cunningly purchased travel card that covered Zones 1 through 4, it was soon to be a hot sunny afternoon in...

And it is an oddly unsettling thing to visit a filming location that is so damn suburban and ORDINARY. (Which was kind of the point, after all).

Insert your favourite animatronic cat here...

And after a trip up and down Horsenden Hill following in the footsteps of Tip Tipping (as he walked off set in protest of Eddie Kidd's lack of an Equity card), the decision to wear new boots for the weekend away was becoming more akin to insanity.

But what better way to make the spirits soar than an impromptu pilgrimage?

All that, and The Park Where Goldie Plays just around the back, and the site of Lime Grove just around the corner in a housing zone.

That's what I love about London; the sheer bloody shambolic mess of it all.

SUNDAY 10th JULY

More meanderings, this time actually making it to Forbidden Planet merely for the curiosity value.

Ok. And to buy t-shirts, dammit.

In and around the vicinity of Wardour Street yielded some particularly pleasant coffee, a cheese omelette, and especially this...

If that isn't heritage, I don't know what is.

(And yes, I can confirm that the temptation to scrawl "OF MYSTERY AND SUSPENSE" along the bottom IS incredibly strong...).

Ulitmately ended up as planned perusing the Vorticists at the Proper Tate. Always nice to see the work of Wyndham Lewis, a man most famous for not having written "The Day of the Triffids" and "The Midwich Cuckoos"...

MONDAY 11th JULY

Final day of my City Break, and I can't say I was looking forward that much to going home. You can't "do" London in a mere couple of days, even when you had no precise idea what you intended to do.

So you always end up feeling like you've got so much ground to cover when in fact you're on the Tube to take you back to where you started from.

But you can of course make some entertaining digressions along the way. Like this...

This...

And speaking of "The Day of the Triffids", this...

 

All too soon it was back to King's Cross, where luck was running to form and having to catch an alternative train meant a standing journey back to York while being bombarded with texts concerning all the things that had gone wrong in my absence. (More of that in the next comment piece, and it's not very pleasant ).

Anyway, at this point sincere thanks must go to my patient host, and it was indeed an honour to participate in the quest for workable bathroom illumination.