LONDON SLANT: A COUNTRY WALK FROM LEICESTER SQUARE

Join me on a walk through fields and woods from Leicester Square. But forget mega-cinemas and heaving bars. We’re heading 80 minutes south of central London to Penshurst village, the “original” spot to sport the name.

Leicester Square at Penshurst, Kent: a world away from its London namesake.

Early on a spring morning we set off from this cluster of ancient houses named for the Earl of Leicester who lived in adjacent Penshurst Place. We climb the hill above this 14th-century manor house and its gorgeous gardens.

Penshurst Place: a grand English manor house with a spectacular Great Hall.

The track eventually dips down to follow the Medway River. It’s the classic English scene: yellow kingcups at its edge and moorhens building their nests. But hey, what’s that nestling beneath the trees? Astonishingly, this leafy glade was a target for invading forces during the last war. All along its banks are fortified pillboxes, too firmly embedded to be removed.

Ready to repel invaders: a pillbox lurks under trees by the Medway River.

We swing left to the cricket pitch at Leigh and skirt its edge so as not to be hit. Just ahead is the magnificent park of Hall Place, an Elizabethan house. We make a note to come back on either 26 May or 16 June, two rare occasions when its gardens open to the public.

Bluebells line our way.

We continue past towering rhododendron bushes and bluebell woods, between banks of primroses and fields bright with dandelions. May blossom foams over hedges and violets nod beside streams.

We arrive at the olde-worlde village of Chiddingstone at noon—and not a moment too soon. The Castle Inn is one of those rare gastro-haunts where the food just keeps on getting better and customers follow suit. Turn up any later and every table may be taken. What a treat to rest our feet in the garden with a glass of cider and roast lamb that falls off the bone.

Aaah: a seat in the garden of the 600-year-old Castle Inn.

Now comes my favourite part of the walk: the long, slow descent through the aptly-named Eden Valley with sweeping vistas across emerald countryside.

The Eden Valley. The conical oast houses on the horizon were once used for drying hops but are now largely converted into homes.

Penshurst Place and its ensemble of garden rooms beckon. We stretch out under the magnolia trees, take off our boots and dream back over the day.

This 10-mile walk (Ordnance Survey map 188) is taken from the excellent 10 Adventurous Walks in West Kent by Raymond Hugh. The book was published in 1994 but, apart from the occasional instruction to walk through a long-gone hop field, is still surprisingly accurate. The book is one of a series featuring walks of 10-15 miles around London—by far my favourite set of walking guides.

LONDON SLANT: THE TRIUMPH OF THE TREES

Imagine what it’s like to be a tree in London. Not a pampered sort that sits in parks and gardens, but a rough, tough plane or elm out there on the street. A tree that lives in a small quadrangle of earth and spends all day overhanging cars and inhaling their fumes.

Blossom on my doorstep: a London street cherry in full bloom.

Fortunately such trees have one big advantage: their artless beauty. They need it to get all the support they can as they struggle to survive. And now’s the time of year when it’s deployed at its blossoming best.

Every morning for past few days I’ve stepped outside to a billowing cloud of white. It’s the cherry tree I pestered the local council to plant in the empty patch of soil just outside my door. Its predecessor was pushed over by a gang of drunken yobs. I can’t describe the delight I now take in seeing it fully grown, in flower against a blue sky. But I’ll enjoy it just as much as the summer unfolds, and with it, its bright green leaves.

Now that “my” tree has grown into a stately adult, it’s just been joined by three new youngsters across the road. What a lovely surprise it was to open my door early one morning and see tree planters digging holes.

Vandals tore the top off this young tree. Why? But it’s fighting back and leaves have opened on its little branches.

Sadly, vandals have pulled the top off one, but the other two are sprouting skywards. The tattered tree is fighting back, though. It’s showing defiant signs of life and I’ll be ready with buckets of water to help it should we get some summer heat.

This leaning tree faced the axe: campaigning locals (including a pigeon worried about its nest!) stuck notices on it demanding it be saved.

Other neighbouring trees should give it courage and inspiration. A few steps away is one that was earmarked for the axe because it leans over into the street. A vigorous campaign saw a stay of execution and instead, the pavement beneath it was extended out into the road. Quite right, too.

An even bigger hoo-ha blew up over a tree that acquired its own, suitably grand name: the Rheidol Plane. Due to be hacked down for the redevelopment of a block of flats, it became the subject of a petition. Its supporters knocked repeatedly on every door.

Result!

The Rheidol Plane: saved to continue presiding over its sacred swathe of grass.

The plans for the flats went back to the drawing board simply to accommodate the plane and I’m happy to report that it’s about to burst into leaf once more. Yes, those trees might not have an easy life, but there’s enough of us out there to help them where we can. My trees might not feature in London’s best, and have plaques to prove it, but they’re every bit as important to those of us who live round here.

LONDON SLANT: MY JOB INTERVIEW AT THE CORINTHIA HOTEL GOES AWRY

This week I went for a job interview at the glamorous Corinthia Hotel. As they were short-staffed I had to pitch in and help. No sooner had I put on my uniform than I was taking an order from a couple in the restaurant. Later on I had to deal with paparazzi who were hounding a celebrity guest.

I found myself running all over the hotel, from the spa in the basement to the penthouse at the top. I was put in my place by a bossy housekeeper and got ticked off by the maître d’ when my table settings weren’t up to scratch.

Yet after an hour or so I was summoned by the manager who said “You’re hired”. I think by now you may have guessed that this “ job interview” wasn’t quite what it seems.

Cue action: Above and Beyond at London’s Corinthia Hotel.

In fact it was all part of Above and Beyond, a “one-on-one immersive theatre experience” currently being staged at the hotel by Look Left, Look Right. These types of events, currently all the rage in London, are normally put on in dilapidated warehouses in less salubrious parts of town. The setting for Above and Beyond couldn’t possibly have been more different.

You really have to hand it to the Corinthia. They’ve taken stock of their location close by London’s galleries and theatres to create this daring “Artist in Residence programme” to illuminate what their hotel’s all about. But what a risk to stage it among guests paying upward of around £350 a night.

So, every evening for the past few weeks, 24 lucky participants have had individual time slots with a similar number of actors to experience life “back of house”. One minute you’re “working” with hotel staff, the next you’re plunged into nostalgic vignettes from the building’s earliest days. These include the half century or so leading up to 2010 when it was part of the UK’s Ministry of Defence.

I asked the Corinthia’s elegant Mistress of Ceremonies what guests make of actors and their audience careening along the corridors. Most are really intrigued, she said. And some have even taken part.

But what happens when things go awry, as they inevitably will? For me, it all started to go wrong when I got lost on the fifth floor. I ended up tailing a bona fide room service waiter serving dinner to a guest. When the waiter disappeared, grumbling he was busy, a housekeeper tried to help me, suggesting I knock on a particular bedroom door. When I did, a surprised guest appeared in his dressing gown and slippers. I made my excuses and left.

Scene of strange goings-on: Massimo Restaurant at the Corinthia Hotel.

Above and Beyond is now at the end of its sell-out run, but I’ll be closely watching as the Corinthia’s Artist in Residence programme evolves. I can’t wait to see what they’ll come up with next.

LONDON SLANT: NEW LIFE FOR A PLACE OF SLEEP

Bunhill Fields, a leafy graveyard in London’s financial district, is a welcome patch of green among looming concrete and glass. The final resting place of colourful characters including William Blake and Daniel Defoe, its peaceful atmosphere counteracts the urban urgency all around.

An apple for the poet-painter. Visitors to William Blake’s grave in London’s Bunhill Fields leave tokens of appreciation, including coins, flowers and fruit.

Every morning stern-faced office workers stream along its central path, two unbroken ribbons heading east and west. I imagine the effigy of John Bunyan, recumbent on his tomb, turning to observe them as they scurry past. I fancy that the author of Pilgrim’s Progress, known for his skilful rendering of human foibles and desires, would be delighted to have found the perfect spot to continue his studies of London life.

No respect for a writer whose work has never been out of print for over 300 years. A London pigeon perches on the stomach of John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress.

Active from the late 17th century until 1854, burials have long ceased on this site. So I was quite surprised when I recently encountered a team of workmen digging around the graves. I asked one what was happening and he told me that Bone Hill, its original name, is a former marsh. Many of the tombs are subsiding—he pointed to one that had collapsed—but are now being shored up and cleaned. Errant vegetation is being removed and water jets are targeting years of city grime. Beautiful carvings and inscriptions are appearing in glowing white stone.

Men at work. A skull and cross bones newly cleaned on a Bunhill Fields tomb.

It’s great that such care is being lavished on a place that could have been left behind in the scramble to build office towers. And it’s fascinating to watch as every week more of the monuments return to glowing health.

Now, some newly-buffed tombs are even starting to look rather stark. But I’m sure it won’t be long before nature begins to reassert itself. Because while I’m delighted to see this memorial ground of notable non-conformists being properly nurtured, atmosphere is important, too. And for that you need a scattering of wayward ivy and ferns peeking out among the stones.

LONDON SLANT: POMPEII VERSUS DAVID BOWIE

This summer two “blockbuster” London exhibitions go head to head. In the first corner we have Life and Death in Pompeii and Herculaneum at the British Museum. Opposite, across town at the V&A, we have David Bowie is…

This season’s must-have coffee table ornaments: catalogues for David Bowie is… and Pompeii and Herculaneum

With 67,000 tickets pre-booked, Bowie has attracted more advance sales than any previous V&A show. Pompeii, which one reviewer even compared to the landmark 1972 Tutankhamun exhibition, has gone a step further with nearly 72,000 enthusiasts reserving slots before the opening day. What is it that’s got everyone scrambling to get in?

At first glance the two shows couldn’t be more different: the elegant, exquisitely presented British Museum exhibition versus Jean Genie and Rebel, Rebel pumping through headphones at the V&A.

But hang on a minute…

Going to the Pompeii show is like being invited to dinner at a Roman house minutes before Vesuvius starts to spew. Many of the exhibits are so intimate—a child’s wooden cradle charred by the heat, a table arrayed with trinkets to impress guests, a flask of the condiment du jour, fish sauce—you feel an instant bond with these people even though they lived in AD79. With the notable exception of a container to breed dormice for the cooking pot, the exhibits constantly remind you of how their lives resemble ours.

Origins of a legend: where Ziggy Stardust began.

The Bowie exhibition, too, is a walk-in scrapbook of minutiae that build into a living portrait of a time past. We have the pieces of paper that he scrawled his lyrics on and even a tissue with lipstick blotted from his lips. Of course there are the gorgeous costumes and enough high art (Die Brüke, Warhol and Gilbert and George) to elevate the show above the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. But I won’t forget the crowd of balding heads just inside the entrance completely spaced out by a video of Bowie playing Major Tom beneath a television shaped like a sputnik and an image of the moon. This is a snapshot of an era. And they were there.

Both shows still have months to run. You’ve seen the advance booking figures, but who will come out tops in the end? If the two venues want to really see visitor numbers skyrocket the British Museum could host evenings of drinks in the fabulous Roman garden they’ve created. (How about serving the favourite Pompeiian tipple of watered-down wine—perfect for these straitened times?) Meanwhile the V&A could deploy its Sennheiser headphones to run a silent disco among the vast screens pulsing with the Spiders from Mars.

Count me in.

LONDON SLANT: GO WEST, YOUNG EASTER BUNNY

Happy Easter, everyone! The sky’s bright blue and I long to put on my hiking boots and head for the hills. But it’s far too chilly for the Chilterns, so join me on a West London Easter walk.

Easter bunnies on parade, with the lady who organised the display.

Let’s start off with a bit of seasonal fun. While rambling along Collingham Rd near Gloucester Rd tube I spotted this family of luminous bunnies. As I took a snap the owner emerged from her house. She told me that she started putting on similarly festive displays for her children every Christmas. They loved them so much that she’s since extended their range. “We’re planning Halloween now,” she told me, then leapt into her sports car and zoomed off with a most unbunny-like roar.

But the walk I’m about to suggest starts two stops along the District and Circle lines, at Sloane Square. Download the route from http://www.london-footprints.co.uk/wkchelsearoute.htm

Colbert brings a touch of Paris cafe society to Sloane Square.

When I did this walk a few weeks ago I began with a fortifying breakfast at Colbert, adjacent to the station. The manager recommended various treats such as their Eggs Benedict and superfruit salad with pomegranate jewels. As he said, you should only order things in restaurants that you wouldn’t make for yourself back home. The food was delicious, the atmosphere relaxed and fun. Most memorable were the gorgeous loos. With their nautical decor, including sea green tiles, they had the feel of a glamorous 1930s French liner. I was in no hurry to dry my hands.

Coffee in Colbert, to kick start the walk.

Setting off outside, my first fascinating port of call was the Arts and Crafts Holy Trinity church (four stars in Simon Jenkins’ Thousand Best Churches book). The morning light was streaming through the Burne-Jones stained glass east window. I loved the writhing patterns of the floral wrought iron chancel gates.

Entrance of the Chelsea Arts Club.

From here, the route zig-zagged back and forth between the King’s Road and Cheyne Walk, past all sorts of curious buildings tucked away down tiny streets. In addition to the places I’ve photographed I passed Godfrey Street—a row of tiny houses painted different colours—and the Manolo Blahnik shop window in Old Church Street, arrayed with shoes sprouting multi-coloured protuberances that looked like exotic plants.

Cow’s head above former dairy building in Old Church Street.

I enjoyed seeing Oscar Wilde’s former home in Tite Street (with a pair of suitably louche lamps with shades of guinea fowl feathers in the window) and seeing Whistler’s house overlooking the Thames and matching the views to his Nocturnes.

Building designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, whose studio was nearby.

I passed a slab of the Berlin Wall in the National Army Museum grounds, entered the magnificent chapel of the Royal Hospital (home to the Chelsea pensioners) and eventually wound up in the food market just outside the Saatchi Gallery (both of which were heaving with crowds.) I found plenty more cups of coffee to keep me going until the sun went down in a blaze over Battersea Park.

Delightful sign on a nursery school.

LONDON SLANT: FLOAT TO THE NOTES OF BALI’S GAMELAN

Who needs the hassle of long haul travel when you live in London? You can just sit put and let the world come to you. I certainly felt as though I was in Bali at a concert of the island’s music and dance the other night.

Dancer moves to the rhythm of the Balinese gamelan.

I might have been sitting in St Luke’s church near Old Street tube, but in my mind it was years ago when I visited a temple in Bali’s central hills. Then, devotees in elaborate costumes performed rituals against a backdrop of emerald rice paddies. But what I most remember was the music. A gamelan orchestra of xylophone-like instruments and gongs played hypnotic, flowing sequences of rippling notes.

I’ve remained on red alert for gamelan music ever since. And, I’ve discovered, you can find it all over London, from the South Bank to the Horniman Museum. I was listening to the LSO St Luke’s Community Gamelan Group. Anyone is welcome to join their Monday evening practice sessions to learn how to play. Plus they regularly put on performances to sell-out crowds.

Last Friday evening St Luke’s was joined by Lila Cita, the UK’s leading Balinese gamelan group. The two teams of musicians came together in a lively concert that powered along at a lick.

The scene was set with ranks of elaborate gold and scarlet metallophones ready to ring out when struck by shark’s tooth hammers. To either side were glittering parasols and giant gongs. On came the performers: men and women in sarongs, crimson military-style jackets and blouses, with flowers in their hair. The drums struck up and they launched into cascading, classical pieces like Golden Rain. These mixed with more challenging contemporary pieces such as Short Ride in a Fast Machine, an exciting arrangement of John Adams’ 1986 composition for a western symphony orchestra.

A fascinating instrument: an exotic creature with red pom-pom cymbals on its back.

Then came the dancers, in their shimmering brocades. First on was 7-year-old Maya Channing, tap-dancing for her first time in public as she elegantly enacted the misadventures of a naughty Balinese pig. Next were ceremonial dances by sinuous ladies and ferocious-looking men.

Men perform a martial arts dance.

By now the gamelan had drifted into the background, letting the performers take centre stage. I enjoyed its gently tumbling notes as much as the earlier, more distinctive set pieces. It brought back the temple music in Bali that was played as an accompaniment to offerings to the gods.

*Watch out for more performances coming up at St Luke’s and by Lila Cita. If you’re reading this at Her Majesty’s Pleasure, the evening’s programme noted that one of the performers is running gamelan projects in UK prisons.

london slant

Around the city, from every angle.