Freedom beckons

Dutch Boats about to collide

We finally could visit London, the first time we have stayed in the capitol for more than two years. Although Covid is still rife, we stayed clear of great crowds, and visitor attractions are still strict in limiting numbers. The National Gallery was surprisingly quiet, even round the more popular 19th Century painters such as Manet and Van Gough. Ann took plenty of photos of me staring at pictures, such as at this great Turner, where two little boats are struggling to avoid a collision in what appears to be a sudden, violent squall coming out of the clearer blue sky behind the black storm clouds.

We stayed in Hazlett's Hotel, in the midst of Soho. Over 300 years old, it is three converted private dwellings, with original rooms, windows and staircases, named after Hazlett who lived, worked and died in the house in 1830. After his death, his landlady, hoping to rent it as quickly as she could, hid the body under the bed while she showed the room to would-be tenants. There are still no elevators, and I was glad we were only on the 1st floor, unlike the boys who were located in the attic rooms. 

We dined well, and drank deep, glad to be alive and free again into relative normality after the dreadful confines of the past many months. Alas, I do not have my old stamina and could not walk too far, needing to rest regularly, but at least we did it. Soho is a pure delight, so full of youth and life. Every pub, restaurant and night club was bursting to the seams, with long queues outside each and every doorway guarded by bouncers, though we saw no whiff of trouble. People were happy, cheerful, celebrating their freedoms and glad to be about again. 

An ice cream in China Town

Ann and I were by far the oldest in the crowds, even Ann being a good 10-15 years older than anyone else we met. Naturally, this did not stop us enjoying some Chinese delicacies - in Ann's case, a rather special ice cream in China Town. Although some restaurants can be pricy, it is still possible to enjoy more modest living. On Sunday we had a late breakfast at the Weatherspoon's Pub near Holborn. Where else can you still get toast and marmalade, tea and coffee for two with unlimited refills for £3-80? We then enjoyed the park-like trees and shrubs of Lincoln's Inn Field gardens before meeting the boys to visit the Soane Museum, which has free entry as still do so many museums in London, including the major art galleries.

On our way to the National Gallery, we were caught up in yet another anti-vaccination protest march in Trafalgar Square. I could understand and sympathise with the pretext for this one: it was against compulsory vaccination. We have had too much control and restrictions in our lives to be comfortable with compulsion, although I agree it is a difficult debate where NHS and Care Unit staff are involved. I could even comprehend the group opposed to it on the grounds that they fear the potential side-effects of a new vaccine. I can't understand those who claim it is a world-wide secret organisation plot to inject everyone with some mind-controlling chip. But some of these people went even further, with banners proclaiming the whole thing a hoax; that the virus was imaginary; that there was no such thing as a virus infection. I won't even try to expand a defence for this, except to wonder what our schools are teaching people these days. It certainly isn't logic or rational thought or analysis.

Getting home, I found a letter had been delivered from Addenbrookes Hospital. More accurately, I only got half a letter; it had been ripped completely through and placed in a bag by the Post Office with an apology note for the delay and damage. I do not know what the delay was, as the date had been obliterated. I'm not sure what the contents were either; there wasn't much of the letter left. Perhaps someone else received the other half, and is sat wondering if they have a cancer they hadn't known about? 

Getting Half a Letter