MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS HIGHGATE CEMETERY...

I used to live in north London when I was a student, above an Irish pub somewhere between King's Cross, Caledonian Road and Camden Road stations, so I had another of those, "Why the hell couldn't I have done this when I lived here?" moments!

At the time, my student job was as a betting shop cashier and I worked in many north London stores, including around Holloway Road and Archway, so getting off at Archway Tube station was a bit of a nostalgia trip for me.  The local Ladbrokes I've worked at was further from the station than I remember and I was saddened to see the Archway Tavern closed, although it did look like it was being renovated.  I used to meet my then-boyfriend in this pub for a drink, then we would nip to the Paris London Cafe on Junction Road for a bite to eat.  They sold both snails and frog legs.  I refused to eat either of those things and even my ex (who has been known to kill and cook his dinner, in the wilds of Africa) refused the latter.  It was a cute place- very small and intimate with no alcohol licence and a corkage fee.  But the last time we went they'd got their licence, expanded and disappeared up their own arses, so we didn't go again.  The cafe's not there now- apparently it's moved.  

Enough of the reminiscing!  I've always wanted to visit Highgate cemetery as I'm a bit gothic, a touch macabre and a lover of history, art and beauty.  The cemetery featured in the 2009 film Dorian Gray, which was on TV towards the end of last year, so I did my research and promised myself a day out here.  John Betjeman described it as a "Victorian Valhalla" and I would describe it as a stunningly evocative necropolis.  The walk up Highgate Hill was a real fifteen to twenty minute killer for the legs- why people bother going to the gym is beyond me- the world is one big gym!  The gradient is recorded as being between 5.1% and 7.6% and I pushed on (or rather up!) and got on with it, passed through the rather pleasant Waterlow Park and arrived at the cemetery gates... thankfully, alive! 

Here's what I saw in the East Cemetery...

The grave of Mary Ann Cross (nee Evans) better known as George Eliot.  As a writer, I had to get a picture of this.

Karl Marx:- His ideas formed the basis of modern communism.

I love this stark, self-designed piece by modern artist Patrick Caulfield.

Watch out, Beadle's about!  Considering Jeremy Beadle died in 2008, his tombstone looks remarkably faded.  You had to really stare to make out his name.

Malcolm McLaren:- He wrote his own epitaph, "Better a spectacular failure, than a benign success."

I just love these gorgeous love-hearts!

The West Cemetery...

Nature overtakes the cemetery as snowdrops grow on someone's grave.

Beautiful evocative grave showing a stone seat.  "Death is an empty seat."  This is a quote spoken by the character Elizabeth, in my first novel, entitled "The Reject's Club."  The same character also visits Highgate Cemetery with her father.  When I wrote it I hadn't even been to the cemetery! 

The Egyptian Avenue.

The Circle Of Lebanon.

Tomb of George Wombwell, travelling menagerie owner.

The tomb of bare-knuckle fighter Tom Sayers, featuring his faithful dog, Lion.

Nature always wins- tree roots reclaiming their space.

This sleeping angel sculpture is really evocative.

I know it's really naughty of me, but the monument to the left of the photo reminded me of a turd.  I don't know who it's a memorial to as I was on a guided tour and couldn't just wander off, but apologies for any offence!

MISS ELAINEOUS GETS TAKEN UP THE SHARD...

Ooh-eer Missus!

.... No, not as painful as you might think- my partner and I had a lovely day out in central London, so before going for dinner then the theatre he took me up the tallest building in the United Kingdom.  The indoor viewing deck is 69 floors high, with a semi-exposed deck (the ceiling is open but not the windows, so jumping cannot take place!) is on floor 72.

This is not the highest building I've been up- I was lucky enough to ride 110 floors skywards, in the express elevator, to the top of the south tower of the World Trade Center.  This was in 2000, only sixteen months before it was destroyed.  😢  I must make a point of going back to New York, then I can stand at the window of the viewing deck of its "replacement," One World Trade Center.

This isn't the highest place I've stood on either.  I've been up the Rocky Mountains, in Denver, Colorado and stood on top of glorious Table Mountain in Cape Town. 

It was a blustery, overcast day by the Thames (hurricane Doris was on her way) but I still managed to get some good pictures.

Tower Bridge, with the Docklands in the background.

20 Fenchurch Street, also know as the Walkie-Talkie.  They apparently have a magnificent Sky Garden and it's free to visit, so I will be doing that soon.

City of London, including the Walkie-Talkie and the The Leadenhall Building aka. The Cheesegrater (apparently you can't visit the latter.)

St. Paul's Cathedral, looking really miniscule below a moody sky!

 Southside, including the Strata building.

Train gyratory.  

Southwark Bridge, approaching sundown- back on terra firma!

Dusk panorama.

London twinkling as another day ends...

I wouldn't rush back to the Shard but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

THE PLAY THAT GOES WRONG...

I don't tend to go for comedies- I'm a serious kind of gal... make me emotional, make me cry but overall, MOVE me! When I'm in a laughing mood, my sense of humour tends to be very much equal to the British postcard- give me a Carry On film and I'm in heaven.

This was slapstick, but it was extremely well executed slapstick. The storyline centres around a bunch of amateur actors putting on a play which can be described by the saying, 'Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong...' And it does- spectacularly!

It's one thing to act well, but an entirely different discipline to play a bad actor- a bit like Les Dawson performing his very clever awful piano routines- but this cast pull it off with aplomb. The standard of writing was superb and the comic timing impeccable. The props and stunts were well executed and this play made me laugh from start to finish.

There was audience participation, with a hilarious reference to the pantomime, but my favourite parts were always when the butler- who had to write the more complicated words of his script on his hand- mispronounced them.

This will make tears of gaiety roll from your eyes, so expect your sides to split!  

MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS FREDDIE MERCURY'S HOUSE...

I ended my day of nosy-parkering with a visit to 1 Logan Place, which was the final home of the late, great, showman-supreme, Freddie Mercury.  Again, why I couldn't have done this when I lived just a short way away, in Hammersmith, is beyond me!

The street is really peaceful, with the gentle sound of twittering birds in the background (corny but true!)  You wouldn't believe that you are only a short way from Cromwell Road, one of the busiest roads in west London.  I wasn't the only person taking pictures, so I didn't feel too alone.

Some of the tributes on the wall are lovely...

But the most touching thing of all were these beautiful yellow roses.  Sometimes a gesture speaks a thousand words.  R.I.P. Freddie. xxxx

MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS PORTOBELLO ROAD...

I haven't been to Portobello Road for over ten years, which is a shame as it's my kind of shopping- flea markets and individual boutiques where you can source lots of exciting one-offs and vintage finds.  I don't like chain stores at all- I find them boring and predictable most of the time.  I did enjoy working as a designer for them, though.  I genuinely believed I could make a difference and I did.  It's a shame they follow trends so slavishly- I'm sure that thinking outside the box would generate more interest and therefore customers.

It was a short walk from the scene of 10 Rillington Place to Portobello Road, so I continued my day with a browse and a lovely black forest pie, complete with oozing cherries.  I'm glad I stumbled across this little shop, called Pylones.

It sells offbeat, colourful homewares and curios and I will certainly check them out again.  Trouble was, I was dying to go to the khazi and had to browse quickly as I needed to find a loo.  I did, but the lack of public facilities everywhere has always pissed(!) me off (there was one set of free underground toilets for the whole road!)  People have to go to the toilet, you know, and it is not something that's ever mentioned, even though discussions abound on far more unsavoury topics.  Using a pub toilet is not an option as you then feel obliged to buy a drink so then, very soon, you need to go to the loo again etc.  Councils, sort it out!  Also, the two cash machines that I tried charged for withdrawals, so I didn't take money out.  As much of the market is a cash business, this can only result in decreased sales.  Again, take note.

Rant over, here's a picture of Pylones' wares.

I took a look at a few vintage stores and stalls.  In the past twenty years, though, vintage clothing has become BIG business so now proprietors can charge ridiculous amounts for what is sometimes 'tat'.  I saw scabby, no-name sparkly shoes priced up at £20- they were worth more like £3.  And Gina shoes going for £80.  Take a fucking hike.  It's second hand, at the end of the day.  I know that everybody has to make a profit (and I notice that the stalls charge less than the shops) but maybe it's better to look at charity shops in good areas, or ebay, as you can find some real, affordable gems there.  Vintage stores have become too clued up!

Portobello Road has changed, it's true- it has become tidier and a bit more commercial- but it hasn't lost its charm.  I shall be returning!

MISS ELAINEOUS VISITS 10 RILLINGTON PLACE...

Well, I did it.  After watching Rillington Place, in which Tim Roth stars as John Reginald Halliday Christie- one of the 20th century's most infamous British serial killers- at the end of last year, I decided that a trip to west London to see what's there in place of his house of horrors was in order.  It was a long trek on the train from my home in the east end- why I couldn't have done this at some point during the eight years I lived in Hammersmith, up the road, is beyond me!

Christie was one twisted individual, and in this picture he looks evil.  I mean, look at those scary eyes staring out at you.  But apparently, had you known him you wouldn't have guessed what his sick hobby was as he hid beneath a cloak of respectability and managed to send innocent Timothy Evans to the hangman for two murders that he himself committed.  His house was literally bleeding bodies, as he hid them within the fabric of his home. 

Here's his house plan, showing the location of his eight victims.  Amazingly, tenants continued to occupy 10 Rillington Place even after Christie had been hung, right up to the time of its demolition (which took place in 1970/71.)

The whole area was rebuilt, to a different geographical layout, possibly to stop macabre people like myself going to see the location.  But, thanks to the internet, pictures overlaying a street map of the time on top of a current map exist- and here they are:-

The pictures differ slightly- this image shows Christie's house and garden totally covering these flats in St. Andrew's Square...

And this image shows it slightly proud of the building, jutting out into the garden...

Is the land cursed?  One resident thinks so:-

“I have a bad feeling about this place. The electrics go wrong. The toilets go wrong. The heating goes wrong. I'm going to get an exorcist in. I've had devout Catholics come and told them to bring holy water.  I think the place is cursed,” he says. “I've had bad luck since I've been here. I've been here 40 years. My health's gone. Everything's gone.”

But another takes a more pragmatic approach:-

“We looked it up and read the story,” he says. “I think I would be a bit more suspicious if I bought on the ground floor.”  Unlike the elderly unnamed resident, who lives below him, he doesn’t believe that Christie’s crimes are anything to worry about. “I didn’t have any bad vibes when I walked into the house,” he says. “And I thought to myself: London is a big city. Unless you can show me one plot of land where someone hasn’t been killed slaughtered, raped or stabbed in the past 1,000 years – well, I don’t think that plot of land in London exists.”  (Source:- The Independent)

And what do I think? Well, it was a lovely day when I ventured out with my camera. It was sunny and spring was in the air. One passer by, seeing me doing my nosy-parkering said, "It's a lovely day for taking photographs, isn't it?" And indeed it was. On such a pleasant day it was seemingly impossible to pick up bad vibes from the building. Everything was calm and peaceful.

Views of the garden, taken from Bartle Road. The green section is actually raised.

Side view of the garden, taken from the right hand side (assuming the front is the Bartle Road end.) The front of 10 Rillington Place would have jutted out past this wall.

Here is the side of the block.  Christie's house ran diagonally across it.  This is as close as I could get.  There were people around, going about their business, so I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself.

The back view of this block of flats.  According to the blueprint, I'm probably standing just outside the corner of Christie's garden, near to where his victim Ruth Fuerst was unearthed.

It was an interesting morning.  Yes, Miss Elaineous is more than slightly ghoulish, but I'm definitely not the first.  I should imagine residents of this rather cute little area of London are used to people coming to have a sniff around, wanting to see where these hideous crimes took place.  I don't think you'd ever guess what had happened here unless you were told.  All indications of this block's past incarnation have been obliterated.  I did however, pick up on a very calm and peaceful vibe as I stared at the garden.  At the risk of sounding fey and whimsical, I think the victims rest in peace, happy that justice was finally done.

THE INNKEEPER'S DAUGHTER by VAL WOOD

THE INNKEEPER'S DAUGHTER

BY VAL WOOD

THE BLURB:-

Life isn't turning out quite as hoped for thirteen-year-old Bella. She lives at the Woodman Inn- an ancient hostelry run by her family in the Yorkshire countryside- surrounded by her unreliable siblings. When Bella learns that not only is her father seriously ill, but her mother is expecting a fifth child, her dreams of becoming a schoolteacher are quickly dashed.

Times are hard, and when their father dies Bella must also take on responsibility for her baby brother. Her days are brightened by the occasional visit from Jamie Lucan- the son of a wealthy landowner in a neighbouring coastal village. But then her mother announces that she wants to move the family to Hull.

Could things get any worse? Or could this move turn out to be a blessing in disguise for Bella?

THE REALITY:-

Now this I did race through as it really picked up pace as you went along and became more gripping as you progressed! I was actually wary of reading it at first as it is hailed as a “must read for all Catherine Cookson fans.” Well, Cookson's writing was good but gave new meaning to “it's grim up north” and made for quite depressing reading. The Innkeeper's Daughter, thankfully, didn't.

I like reading about Yorkshire as I've only ever visited that county once, in 1979, on a holiday to the once great but now sadly non-existent Butlins Filey, with a day trip to York thrown in. I must make the time to venture up to Leeds, Harrogate and make sure a visit to Bronte country is included as well (as a writer myself, how could I not?) I should also venture across to the other side of the Pennines as well and take in Manchester, as that's another place I've never been to, only passed through. Funnily enough, I always seemed to acquire friends who hailed from these two areas- down to earth, friendly and funny people who often highly sung the praises of the cities of their births.

Anyway, back to the story.... This was a heart-cooling then heartwarming tale of life from 1847 and, as I love my history, it made for a very interesting read about working class life at that time. Bella and her family led a relatively good existence running a pub, compared to some of their contemporaries who weren't running their own business and those who didn't live in a loving household. All of the family had issues, though, and it was heartening to see them work through them and sort their lives out. The East Riding of Yorkshire came to life under the author's pen and it was good to see the life comparisons between the Thorps, the poverty stricken Walkers with their nasty father, the well-off Lucans and also their Hull friends such as the educated immigrant Reuben Jacobs.

Despite missing out on her original dream to become a teacher (and you really feel for Bella and understand her frustration) fortunately both her and her mother Sarah appeared to have their heads screwed on the right way and did a fantastic job of cleaning up the Maritime in Hull, turning it from a hell-hole which undesirables frequented to a respectable inn. They both turned out to be great businesswomen, at a time when women were considered second class citizens: inferior to men.

With likeable characters and a bit o' romance thrown in too for a good measure, this was a good (if not earth shattering) read and I would like to give other works by this writer a go. Oh and I'm glad Bella was not taken in by Mr. Allen's charms- he seemed to be on the make!