Ambassadors Hotel, Kensington, London

Our last few days in Suffolk were spent eating, packing, eating, and then eating some more. On the Sunday evening we were entertained in style by Chris’s brother’s partner at her lovely home south east of Stowmarket. What a feast she turned on! A roast of beef as I have never seen before with so many platters of perfectly cooked vegetables, followed by trifle and cream only squeezed in by greed; no-one needed desert after all of that! It was lovely to see my husband with both his siblings, and for us all to enjoy such an animated evening. 

Perhaps this was not entirely true for Margie who had been unwell since our night out in Bury St Edmunds last week, nursing a cough that would have been best kept in quarantine. However I guess she was keen to spend every possible moment with her little brother, no matter how she felt. 

Unfortunately she managed to share the virus with me and I have been hovering on the brink of poor health myself ever since. Of course I too should have put myself into quarantine, but there is just so much going on!

We spent Monday attending to laundry then packing seriously, finishing the day eating at the local Indian Restaurant down in Haughley to save mess in the spick and span van. The Old Counting House, a fourteenth century heritage building is the most unlikely scene for an Indian restaurant, but is quite wonderful. The service and food are great, and the interior of the building, some of the rooms separated only by bare antiquated wooden skeletons, is worth checking out alone. However we did find their prices a little stiff, mainly because they charged exorbitantly for the extras, such as the scant helpings of rice and the naan bread.

When Tuesday arrived, we were ready to deliver the caravan back to its storage up near Thetford Forest for the winter. This all went very well, and we remembered all the little steps that Chris’s brother considered we had been neglectful of last year, feeling quite self-satisfied when we turned up at his place in Bury St Edmunds with the television and other bits for safer storage. Alas, we soon we learned we were not perfect after all; such is the bane of being a younger sibling. We had left the brake on, something that should never be done in these colder climes.

That afternoon after settling the caravan into place with about four hundred others, we called into Thetford, ostensibly to source some luggage straps for our suitcases, this alone turning out to be a Grand Quest. It seems that travel accessories are tucked away once autumn arrives; it would appear that the average English person does not consider heading off on an aeroplane to warmer places. 

We did eventually track down the last three straps in town, but not before having a good look around this ancient town. We wandered through the streets and along the lovely Little Ouse River, pausing from time to time to admire the odd statue or architectural feature. There are plenty of interpretative boards about the town, claiming several very famous folk: Thomas Paine, whose hugely influential works include “Rights of Man” and “The Age of Reason”, and Charles Burrell & Son’s whose business in its heyday employed 10% of Thetford’s population producing two large machines a week, a total of four thousand exported all over the world, and about four hundred of those preserved today. There is a lovely walk along the river, although we saw only a small section of it, and agreed we had to return some day in the future to explore further. 

That night we camped out in Margie’s house, spreading our mess throughout and I am sure a little part of her was happy to see us gone yesterday morning and her house restored to order. Her youngest daughter, Mandy, took us down to the railway station at Stowmarket, from where we travelled through to London. 

I could say our trip and relocation into London went without hitch, but I would be exaggerating. Our connecting train through to Ipswich was late, and then sat out from the station to allow the express train coming through from Norwich to take precedence. By the time we pulled up at the platform, the express was about to depart, regardless of the fact there were several of us trying to connect. We all rushed over the bridge, us hauling our too-heavy cases, and we only just managed to struggle on board, yelling out to the guard to wait. As a result we entered the train at the wrong end and struggled further to drag our cases through to the back end of the train, giving up half way, because it was all just too hard. 

We took seats, not our own, and waited for the consequences, which never came. I was absolutely pooped and Chris was furious that I had insisted we make that mad rush. It was his opinion that we surely could have waited for a later train, however I was adamant that since we had acquired special price non-transferrable tickets, we would have been up for a whole new lot at premium prices.

However I can say that our progress through London on the underground went relatively smoothly, even with some of the linking stations having no lifts. And best of all we were delighted to discover our hotel superior to those stayed in the two previous years. We do understand you get what you pay for, and so should never be too critical, but this one is definitely a step up. It has a lift, and taps that work, and space to open both suitcases at once! 

We spent yesterday afternoon exploring the area around the hotel and South Kensington on foot, discovering dozens of restaurants probably suitable for the next four nights’ dinners. We ended up dining last night at an Italian restaurant, the Bellavista, enjoying the set menu appropriately priced.

This morning we were further delighted to discover breakfast far superior to our experiences thus far in London. Instead of the limited choice of cornflakes, milk and white toast, there was all that plus an array of other cereals, yoghurt, brown bread and a selection of pastries, and … a cooked breakfast as well. Of course for those of you who use hotels on a regular holiday basis, you would always choose hotels that offered this at least, but we do not patronise hotels, always self-catering and when circumstances insist otherwise, follow price rather than pleasure, frequently a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face. Anyway, I rejoiced over the yoghurt and scrambled eggs, and Chris was in seventh heaven over his more adventurous platter.

This morning we set off after our excellent breakfast, walking to the Gloucester Road underground station, and travelled through to Holburn where we found the connecting trains absolutely packed like sardines. We sat out about half a dozen of these very full trains, until a while after 9 am when the loads eased and we were able to find space for ourselves, albeit standing tight up against city commuters. We alighted at St Pauls and made our way to the Cathedral, the target for our day’s exploration. The entry fee for the cathedral is quite hefty, £16 each even at OAP rates, unless you have come for genuine prayerful reasons. We thought it would be rather difficult to play at that game and still manage a good look around. Included in the price are audio guides, with good screens which offer visual extras. 

St Pauls as it is today was built after the London fire of the mid-1600s, completed in 1711 and one of the most important masterpieces by Christopher Wren. The original church dated back to 604 AD, although earlier versions were destroyed by fire twice before the medieval cathedral was consecrated in 1240. The “new” cathedral was built on the footprint of the old, although is smaller and the famous dome is lower than the original medieval spire.

We spent over two hours exploring this lovely structure, including time spent up in the “Whispering Gallery” accessed by 157 steep steps which is not too easy when one’s lung function is challenged as is mine this week. It was from this elevated gallery that one visitor saw fit to end her life just two weeks ago, leaving a note for her immediate family and another for the viewing public apologising for her undignified behaviour. We lingered too in the crypt where we saw the tombs and monuments to Lord Nelson, the Duke of Wellington and the more recent war hero, Winston Churchill, the latter honoured by a rather ornate gate.

After lunch spent out in a nearby garden area with London office workers dodging drizzle, we caught the train to Convent Garden and wandered about the market, checked out the opera timetables unsuccessfully, then travelled onto Earl’s Court where we explored the area for restaurants before making our way back to the hotel. Later we ventured out to the same restaurant we had dined last night, always comfortable with the familiar. Perhaps we will be more venturesome tomorrow. The weather looks more promising tomorrow too.