South Western Railway to Clapham Junction, London Overground to Shepherd’s Bush, and some counter-intuitive bus stop finding led us onto the 316, away from Westfield in Hammersmith & Fulham and straight into RBKC, round a roundabout off which you must not ride animals. We wind through roads of rapidly alternating prosperity levels but only for a while, getting off to walk down a road under the Westway and past the impromptu reggae-and-food-and-bouncy-castle gathering in the park next to it. Not very January, is it?
I realise that André, who really likes my blog/diary, lives in this borough and I should have given him a shout. Shit. Sorry André. Forgive me. But me, you, Tom and Paul should go for a pint sometime. Y’know, like I said we should back in bloody July or whenever it was. Anyway, moving on.
All this walking is good for the 10,000 step count as well as earning me the right to eat a few more calories. Ideally, just outside the park is where we’re going to stop for food and drink, at Cafe Diana. It’s a Princess Diana theme cafe that’s been there for 30 years. I first saw it when running two laps of the park on International Women’s Day in 2014, while Helen waited dutifully for me with a change of clothes and some water at Speakers Corner, listening to some lunatic Men’s Right Advocate twat do his thing. D’oh.
Anyway, much to my sadness, half of Cafe Diana is closed for refurbishment and it’s the half covered in newspaper clippings about her. So now it just looks like a normal cafe. Oh.
We didn’t really fancy going in, tbh. What’s more, by now it was about 3.15pm meaning time was short if we wanted to see one more thing before it got dark. So, we walked up to Notting Hill past a branch of Music & Video Exchange, the sight of which made me reminisce loudly about “a newspaper version of eBay called Loot” to a thoroughly disinterested Helen. But! But! Loot! Music and Video Exchange!
OK so it doesn’t actually say welcome, but do most of them? I don’t really care, but it makes me unreasonably happy to have found a whatever-it-is sign. Certainly happier than I am about the art thing of a boy with a dolphin entitled “boy with a dolphin” next to the car dealership.
Back in the borough itself we walk away from the water, spluttering at the cost of bangers and mash in Chelsea side-street pubs. Back up at the King’s Road we find a Lebanese eatery, basically a posh kebab house. Let’s eat.