Started off in a coffee shop in the exit arcade which did rather good buns with their tea and coffee, then headed off west along the High Street, moving eventually into the land of charity shops, including a well stocked Oxfam where we managed a couple of purchases. From there to the Leighton House Museum which we have been meaning to visit for some time; a strange and interesting place, well worth the visit. I offer, by way of a taster, that Lord Leighton was an enthusiastic amateur soldier, being the leading light of something called the Artists' Rifles, now part of some Territorial SAS formation, and being a rich man, he could run to a very fine ceremonial sword. Another taster being that in order to paint a large picture of a kneeling lady called Clytie, it was necessary to do a much smaller study of her, in the same pose, but in the nude. The story was that if you did not do this you could not get the clothes to hang right on the clothed picture. However, I learn back home that while Lord Leighton was very successful and very highly regarded in his day, his artistic reputation has now sunk very low. Do not be deceived by the large number of his pictures turned up by google.
Next step was to head north through Holland Park, stopping for lunch at the Belvedere (http://www.belvedererestaurant.co.uk/Intro.html) on the way. Another rather splendid place, made affordable for us by their lunch time table d'hôte. À la carte in the evening might have been a bit rich for my plastic. Off to a good start with the floor manager wondering very politely whether, as we did not have a reservation, this round table for six would do, which it did very well, a lot more comfortable for people of our years than one of the rather cosy tables for two would have been. Grub good, well complemented by the wine list which helpfully included a selection of half bottles. We took what turned out to be a couple of halves of a rather good Pouilly Fumé 2012 from Jean-Claude Dagueneau's domaine des Berthiers Saint-Andelain, taken at room temperature. I was very impressed at the end of the meal by the young waiter being very concerned that sir might prefer bread with his cheese, rather than the biscuits which came as standard. On this occasion, sir preferred biscuits to the bread rolls available and we spent some happy minutes speculating whether the silver plated biscuit boat could be shut while containing square biscuits. I bet that it could not and lost. We decided that arranging the biscuits in the biscuit boat was just the sort of thing that first year apprentices would spend their day doing. We spent some more happy minutes speculating about the party of very young apprentice sloanes lunching at the big table at the back. At least one of whom had on such high heels that she could not ascend the short flight of stairs leading to the ladies' room without hanging onto the sleeve of her companion.
And so into the northern end of Holland Park where there was lots of interest, including a newly refurbished Japanese garden. And so out into Holland Park itself to admire St Volodymyr, a hero from the glory days of Ukraine, before they had to chuck it in and ask to be taken into the Russian fold. It was not clear for what this fighting king got made a saint for, as his fame did not look to rest on his saintliness, not at least in the sense that we understand the word now.
After all this excitement, we thought we had better visit a haunt of our youth, the 'Windsor Castle' of Campden Hill Road. The fact that it is a listed building probably explains why the attractive interior décor has not changed in the interval; the place still looks and feels like a proper pub, although I expect they did sell food somewhere. I took a Laphroaig which tasted very strange, associating strongly for some reason to mossy, grassy hummocks in a misty upland. I might even try the stuff again sometime. But the listed building status did not extend to protecting the view. I am sure that in our youth, on a clear day, one could see the real Windsor Castle in the distance through a strategic gap in the buildings opposite, a strategic gap now occupied by a block of flats, the price of real estate in Holland Park having trumped listing. We passed on the 'Uxbridge Arms', another haunt of our youth, sadly degenerate the last time that I visited it a few years ago.
And so to the District Line platform of Notting Hill Gate, open to the skies, to catch our train back to Wimbledon where we were interested to study the large fences running down the centres of some platforms, presumably designed to deter rush hour jumpers.
PS: I had thought to offer an illustration of a rather striking painting by Lord Leighton from his house, a noble lady of Venice, with which I had been rather taken. But while attempting to get a decent copy from the web I got lost in something called Pinterest, back in the geek world of the previous post, from which I was trying to escape. So I settled for St Volodymyr instead.
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