There are no words to describe jetlag, that awful feeling of being a ghost walking amongst the living, of drowning in a vat of anaesthetic. Last night we went to bed at 10pm, then Sam woke us at 11.45pm. That was all the sleep that was to be had. But apart from that, London has been wonderful.
We arrived last night at 7pm, met our driver at the airport and by 8.30pm were at our old local supermarket, Waitrose on Kings Road in Chelsea. We gathered supplies and brought them back to our apartment in Chelsea Cloisters, the building in which we used to live. A relatively sleepless night ensued (central London is not the greatest place to try to send a jetlagged four-year-old back to sleep – it’s not exactly serene … but it’s great for everything else).
This morning we caught the Tube to Covent Garden in a very lovely four degrees of chill, did some shopping, visited the Transport Museum, came home for a sleep, then headed out again this afternoon for a ride on a double-decker bus to Knightsbridge. When Sam saw the facade of Harrods beautifully lit by hundreds of thousands of tiny fairy lights as part of its Christmas display, his response was, “When are we getting back on the double-decker bus?” When he saw the window displays of Harvey Nicholls, a million-pound undertaking, his response was, “When are we going to get back on the double-decker bus?” And when he saw the hill leading to the bus stop, his response was, “Daddy, can I get on your shoulders?”
Despite the lack of sleep, we’re enormously energised by London, by its people, its impeccable style, its crowds, its incredible vibe and the memories of when it was our home. Hopefully we will live here again some time soon (and yes, we know that will worry some people).
Here are some shots from today:
Sam and dad on an olde-worlde double-decker…
We were going to catch this bus, until we saw who was driving.
Sam and Mumma on a classic Routemaster.
Sam phones home from Covent Garden.
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