Spring at Somerset House

Stately Somerset House on the Strand was the venue last month for Photo London, an international photography exhibition of vintage, iconic, as well as contemporary photographs from around the world.

In the courtyard (transformed in winter to an ice rink), where fountains play in spring/summer, as well as children of all ages, there were poetry readings, stalls ...

and endless entertainment in the fountains.

And on the spot is the gorgeous Spring restaurant which opened late last year in Somerset House ...

It's the baby of Skye Gyngell, ex-Aussie/Sydneyite who, as chef at the Petersham Nurseries where she won a Michelin star, became famous in London for her simple, seasonal style of cooking.

I loved the decor at Spring, which like Skye's food is light and fresh with a courtyard garden that makes you oblivious to the busy Strand outside the huge picture windows.

Photo London and Spring at Somerset House, May 2015

Battersea Park

... on the last Sunday of April was the sort of day when at long last you could sit on the grass and read the paper 

watching the more energetic jog by

Blossoms were making an appearance and it was the sort of hopeful day you might swing your child in the air

or free your tot from the confines of his pram and set him down to poke his fingers in the soil ...

Why walk when you could choose from any variety of wheels? ...

Even the dogs were getting the chance to socialise. There was a pups' play-date going on here ...

In the Old English Garden behind brick walls, it was all muted colours and unstructured, rambling, green abundance ...

These bold, orange tulips in ordered rows would definitely not have been allowed in the Old English garden ...

Was it winter still or spring? Many of the trees looked confused on this point ...

Bicycles everywhere ...

... and these houses bordering the river reminded me of Holland, but not the Tai Chi so much ...

Reassuringly, there was a very English game of cricket going on ...

Millenium Bridge: a modern fairytale

Crossing London's Millenium Bridge one evening last week, our destination was the Tate Modern on the far side - the utilitarian, industrial-looking landmark on the south bank ... 

a former power station that was reimagined into a fantastic space for modern art, and currently, a Lichtenstein retrospective.

Unexpectedly, popping up from the underground into the freezing dusk, the light happened to be quite magical, and I was suddenly happy that I had my camera on hand.

Looking east down the Thames, there was the familiar sight of Tower Bridge in the distance. But the Shard, the newest addition to the London skyline, took my breath away with its delicate glass beauty ...

Designed by Renzo Piano, who together with Brit architect Richard Rogers was responsible for Paris' Beaubourg (I posted about it here), the Shard is the EU's tallest building

Shakespeare's Globe theatre, with river boats gliding by, was lighting up for the evening's performance ...

I was so entranced by the views across the river that I almost forgot to look back the way we'd come ...

... at St Paul's ... and marvel again at how the designers of the Millenium Bridge had it constructed so that the sleek, modern bridge would have the cathedral perfectly positioned at its apex ...

Going under ... going, going ...

The Lichtenstein exhibition was fun, his images still fresh and entertaining.

The pic below, taken at the Tate, is not mine (though I confess to taking a quick, furtive phone-snap of younger daughter in front of one of his iconic images) ...

Image source

Walking back across the bridge much later, after a bite at the Tate's glass-walled top-floor restaurant with fantastic views across the city, blue lines lit the way towards a glowing St Paul's ...

Tower Bridge now a fairy-tale image in technicolour ...

and there was time for one last blurry shot of the ghostly dome snapped with frozen fingers before hurrying gratefully into the warmth of the underground.

(London has just had its coldest Easter in recorded history)

Some things seem wrong

Some things just seem incongruous, at odds.

Like an African dog in the snow ...

My big boy, waking to London's first dusting of snow

Out of his element ... (what's this?) ... he does a little dance of joy.

Or a smiling baboon drinking coffee ...

He looked at me leaning out of the car window a couple of feet from him, seemed to smile, totally unconcerned by my presence, and carried on foraging in the dustbin ...

until he found his prize, the remains of coffee to go 

and sat down comfortably on the grass to drink it

Baboons are harmless to people but have become a nuisance in some places in Cape Town, because their natural habitat has been invaded, and because thoughtless tourists feed them, thus giving them a taste for human (junk) food.

Cheers. Coffee break over.

Leaving London under a blanket of snow one freezing night and arriving next morning to 28 degrees dazzling sunshine is also incongruous, but seems quite alright on the other hand.

A London Christmas

Leaving Christmas shopping to the eleventh hour is not an entirely bad idea when your hunting ground is London decked out for the season. 
Although the Siberian freeze has receded and been replaced by floods, so that we are now dreaming only of a wet Christmas, London is still majestic and enchanting at this time of year.

Regent Street, celebrating the twelve days of Christmas, was where I began, with a side trip to Liberty's ... 

showing us better than anyone how to do Christmas with flowers and greenery ...

Heading onwards via Bond Street towards Piccadilly ... What recession? declared Bond Street's jewellers and the Ritz (bottom left), though closing-down sales on Piccadilly told a different story ...

Immortal ghosts these two, heedless of the rain, FDR must have said something funny to make the curmudgeonly Winston crack a smile ...

Who would dare challenge these two burly uniformed gents watching over the entrance to the Burlington Arcade?

... where Santa was moonlighting with a little shoe-shine business.

One could take respite from the rain and shopping here in the Royal Academy, where it's business as usual ...

but I was pressing on to pick up treats for the Christmas table at Fortnum's ... whose windows this year are Dick Whittington-themed

and from here on to Hatchards for book gifts ... their windows impossible to resist.

After a pit-stop at Richoux's for tea and scones, it was properly dark outside, the Piccadilly Arcade glowing in lantern light

and to counter the scones I took a long walk northwards again via Berkeley Square, where I imagined a nightingale sang above a giant silvery Christmas tree ...

and the windows of grand homes made me want to press my nose longingly against the glass ...

and magic lanterns danced in trees ...

until I was almost full circle back in Oxford Street, where never mind the rain, there were sparkling umbrellas floating in the air in front of Selfridges' purply-illuminated grand pillars ...

... and where, after braving the store's hectic crowds and queues (though always polite and patient - how I love that about the English!), my final reward was to plop myself down, surrounded by bags, for a glass of bubbly, Christmas shopping done.