KYQ4: Christmas in the Smoke

Royal Courts of Justice

For the past 43 years, I have been home at Christmas apart from two occasions when we took the family skiing to Wengen and Mottaret. This year my culinary skills were declared redundant and I ventured to London to spend Christmas with two of my children and their families. I arrived a few days early to gain some points for child-watching duties to allow some time out for busy parents. The next day I went foraging for some late presents in central London. I passed the Royal Courts of Justice where several mini-demonstrations were taking place and then succumbed to the attractions of Somerset House where the Impressionist Room in the Courtauld Institute was virtually free of other visitors. I could revel in the exhibits including some post-impressionist paintings by Roger Fry of the Bloomsbury Group.

Shopping called and I drifted through Covent Garden and Soho and hit the crowds skedaddling along Oxford Street. I had some food at John Lewis and explored some Christmas offers before indulging myself by joining the Christmas throngs in Selfridges. Formula 1 cars mingled with Middle Eastern shoppers, who seemed non-plussed by prices as ridiculous as cryptocurrencies. I escaped and took a look at the M&S department store next door. Angela Rayner had created a stooshie by giving permission to demolish it, a listed building, but I tended to agree with her.

It was time to buy something so I wiggled my way through Mayfair, pausing to look at the old American Embassy with the adjacent Grosvenor Square providing lots of space for demonstration, maybe the reason for the strange decision to relocate to Battersea. The bookshop in Piccadilly sated my shopping habits and I left with a good haul of books before heading back home.

The next day, Simon had procured tickets for QPR v PNE, my first visit to Loftus Road and the first game I had seen for three years. I was pleasantly surprised by the intimate, ageing but comfortable stadium that had more atmosphere than many of the newer grounds that have been constructed in recent years. The sound system was at full volume and QPR's goalkeeper from the 1980s, Phil Parkes, was given legend status. He had been the player of the year in 1986 to the chagrin of Stan Bowles who had a stand named after him and seats installed instead. It was the year that QPR had their best-ever season, coming second in the old First Division. The game was not the best and despite PNE taking an early lead, justice was served in the second half when QPR scored a couple of goals. I had my worries about whether PNE could avoid relegation but games in the championship have random results, anyone can beat anyone and everyone can lose to everyone.

We nudged our way to Christmas day on raw cold days with visits to local attractions, the market in Herne Hill and walks around the local parks before the arrival of Gregor and Emily on Christmas Eve. They started Christmas day with the Park Run in Dulwich Park, it had its biggest-ever turnout with over a thousand runners including a couple of hundred Santa Clauses and parents running with a bigger fleet of baby buggies than in a Nursery Store. G came third but seemed content, he had not been training much and presents and bubbly were to come after a late breakfast. Meanwhile, my grandson was out pedalling the local bike trails. The excitement of a bike for Christmas is as timeless as ever,

Christmas Day morphed into Boxing Day, the day when everyone relaxes. We marched around the parks and woods, calling in for pub refreshments before eating remainders from the Christmas feast and dozing in front of the television.

We had the first slot for ice skating the next day. or Gliding as it is now termed in the sophistication of the former Battersea Power Station. The Thames was lost in a fog and I struggled to find my balance on my first foray on ice for 25 years. I used to be able to skate backwards but until my offspring escorted me for a few laps around the Glide circuit, I was dependent on staying near the boundary rail. It used to be the other way round as I pulled them around the rinks. I was told not to worry as I was the oldest person on the ice which was a double-edged insult. On my last circuit, before the siren went, progress had been made and I had my arm behind my back and leg aloft as if I was on Duddingston Loch.

The final day of the visit was taken up by a visit to the National Trust house and gardens at Polesden Lacey in deepest Surrey. Several thousand others had the same idea but there is a 1,600-acre estate to walk around and we spent a couple of hours traipsing the walkways in the mature woodlands along the Mole Valley. The Tanner's Hatch Youth Hostel had been renovated and was being used for musical weekends. A carousel was pitched outside the house along with coffee and Greek food vans and the stables had been refurbished as a well-managed eatery. It suggested that the National Trust was more advanced in its thinking than in many other properties that are moribund by comparison.

My time was up as I caught the Sunday train back to Scotland. It was full to the gunnells with suitcases, buggies and baggy-eyed post-Christmas travellers. There were no Sunday buses for the last leg home so for the first time since moving six years ago, I had to call a taxi to reach home alone.