Johnblog

Sunday. I overdosed on art in New York and promised I would never again look at any pictures, ever. Weak-willed as usual, I crack and offer to go to the Tate Britain to see some more pictures. Not any old pictures, they are by one of Jan’s favourite daubers – Turner. It’s a special exhibition of his later stuff. It’s pretty good, of course.

I feel a bit fatigued (probably art-lag) so I admire the pictures from the comfort of the benches in the centre of the rooms as Jan patrols the boundaries, studying the labels. He’s a popular chap, there are lots of people here.

We have a lunch meeting with Bonnie, Jan’s friend from her schooldays at Godolphin and Latymer, and her husband Jim at Loch Fyne restaurant in Covent Garden. They are good company and we enjoy a very fishy and chatty lunch. They had volunteered to take us to Heathrow. They first drove us back to the hotel to pick up our stored bags, then aimed for the airport. We had a comfortable ride in Jim’s smart BMW through heavy traffic. Jim took the back way down the A4 Great West Road so Jan could see some of her old haunts around Hounslow and Cranford – he’s also originally from that part of town.

The journey back is the usual airport hassle of queues and security screening. On the plane and ready to go, someone takes ill and the hosties all rush about. A doctor is called in. A couple of people are taken off in an ambulance. Two hours late, we take off. Luckily, we make up time and have time for a quick shower in the Emirates lounge at Dubai before catching our connection to Sydney.

Friday. We head off to London for a couple of touristy days before we catch our plane back to Oz. It’s a smooth drive down the M1 and M25 (for a change) and we drop off the hire car, get the Avis shuttle to Terminal 4 and catch the underground into town. We stay at the Mercure on Russell Square in Bloomsbury which Jan booked at favourable rates with some of her Accor hotel points. It’s a smart, quiet, well-designed room.

We walk down to The Strand to visit St Clement Danes Church. This is the church of the Royal Air Force and has remembrance books on display listing the names of all RAF personnel who died in service. We go to pay our respects to Jan’s uncle, Warrant Officer Ronald Dudley, DFM, a Lancaster bomber navigator who died when his aircraft was shot down on a raid over Germany.

The books are in glass-fronted cases, but the appropriate book is not open at the Dudleys. Jan talks to a helpful attendant who opens the case and turns the pages (with a special flat stick) to the Dudley page. There he is.

We wander back to the hotel, stopping off at the neighbouring pub, the Queen’s Larder for a pint.

That evening we ride the tube to go to the Theatre Royal in Haymarket. The play is Great Britain, by Richard Bean, who also wrote One Man, Two Guvnors which we saw, and loved, in Sydney. The subject is the notorious British newspaper phone-hacking scandal that saw red faces (and red hair) in the Murdoch Empire and the axing of the News of the World.

This is a very clever, very funny play. It’s especially funny for a journalist who knows the inner workings of the media, such as myself! The production is amazing, with some huge transparent panels on stage that show video of (supposed) TV news clips and front page headlines from various (supposed) newspapers such as The Guardener “We think so you don’t have to” and The Dependent.

The headlines are very witty and accurate pisstakes of the headline art. There’s a cast of thousands, all good, and many recognisable from TV and film appearances.

Afterwards we head for Chelsea and eat in a pleasant little Italian restaurant.

Thursday. On our last night in Higham Ferrers we take Muriel to Rushden Railway Station – but not to catch a train. We are joined there by Richard and Sarah Lovett to have a drink.

Long disused, the station is now the home of the Rushden Historic Transport Society. The members have restored the buildings and have some old engines and carriages they run along a short stretch of railway line.

The station is famed for its bar serving rare varieties of real ale and comes recommended by a friend of Muriel. This night they have Armadillo and Brock Bitter, Castle Rock Black Gold, a reborn Phipps IPA and others, all at a cheap £2.60 or so a pint.

It’s a club, so we have to pay £1 and be signed in at the door as a guest. Great beer and a great atmosphere as we chat and drink. Their decoration is genuine old station – even down to real gas lighting.

Close to us there’s a ginger cat in a special bed with a sign warning that he bites! He seemed quite friendly really but we didn’t test him.