London

The 7 hours to London is aboard a brand new Etihad plane with a noticeable number of families with pre-school children where I think the nanny usually does the child minding. One dad is physically restraining his small boy who doesn’t want to sit down and so it’s a noisy flight with out of control kids, bless these noise cancelling headphones. The girls have jet lag and have fallen into a sleep so deep I cannot wake them for food, April stretches occasionally putting her feet up over Alila who is bent down on the armrest and doesn’t flinch. I glance across the aisle at Ben and stiffle a laugh, it looks like he’s sitting next to a sleeping Grimace (the big purple McDonalds character), the guy obviously wants to sleep so has pulled the blanket all the way over his head and you cannot see an inch of person, hilarious. The plane has great seats and a great flat screen and it is a comfortable 7 hours to Heathrow.

It's so exciting to be back, though a bit tricky navigating to the correct train platform from the one between terminals, kids and bags and no clue where to go, we make it on time and are soon floating along in the train towards Paddington Station where the girls are going to keep an eye out for Paddington Bear and his marmalade. We alight, minding the gap, and make our way to the platform exit where hundreds of people are coming and going from all directions. We stay together and find our exit, heading out onto the street where it's still light and there are people everywhere. I’m just So happy to be here. We drag our suitcases along to the uber pick up point, trying to cross the street I accidentally take out a temporary road sign with my suitcase but the ambulance at the lights guns his engine so I quickly run across the road. Seems I’m not the only clumsy one as ten metres along is a truck driver unloading a very large stack of boxes which teeter and crash, scattering, knocking down two temporary bollards into the road, he sighs dramatically so everyone avoids him. Our eyes are wide as we whizz to the hotel in our Uber, its maybe 7pm Saturday evening so it’s busy with all sorts of people moving in every direction. We haven't had dinner yet but we spot a young lady dressed for a night out leaving hers on the pavement. 

We check in and head up to level 5, along the hall, up a short flight of stairs, through the doors around the corner through the door and here's our room gladly dropping our bags. After the quickest of showers we head off to the Indian Restaurant a block away (a safe bet for a celiac), its dark, its late, we’re asleep on our feet but we’re starving and know from experience that if you wake hungry in the night there’s no food, you can’t sleep for hunger and your body keeps reminding you it’s 10am where you're from. The restaurant is down in the cellar and its arched ceiling create small rooms for groups of tables, it gives the place a unique feel. We devour dinner and head home. There’s no aircon and we’re a bit sketch about leaving the windows open as it has wide ledge outside accessible from the roof so at something AM we have to crack the window as we are all dying from the heat. 

We are up at 5 and out the door by 6, its cool and quiet with hardly a soul around. The kids are surprised how much Sunday morning debris there is. Its a great time to be out as we are free to bumble along looking around without a care, however every coffee shop we pass for 3 kms is unlit, unoccupied and unopen. As the sun peaks over the buildings and starts to warm our chilled limbs we finally find a cafe. 

We’ve made our way along Shoreditch Road where evidence of last nights fun is all around: smashed windows, rubbish and even a hanging plant ripped from its anchor point outside the pub - so we’re surprised to find this gem of a spot. We spend a good ten minutes doing a goldilocks and testing every chair as each space is different, you’d think it was a designer furniture store. We recharge ourselves and Bens phone, use their posh loo and give our compliments to the barista before returning to the street once more.

Heading down Columbia street towards the markets, we pause to listen to the silence of Sunday morning in the city, at the end of the street there are white trucks and people quietly bustling about with a hint of freshly cut flowers in the air. The flower market is along a quaint little street of boutique shops. The coffee shops are miniscule and some compensate by having a courtyard through the back. We’re here early so the shops aren’t open yet and we’re told its usually so busy there is a line to get into the market. 

Through a little lane to a main road where we wait, fingers crossed, for a double decker and then here it is, all two storeys of it. Even better the girls get a front seat at the top and the young couple next to them, who probably do this every day, see the world through the eyes of two excited little girls who barely contain their squeals of delight. These moments are what makes travelling with children the best, it’s just a bus ride but to them it’s the best adventure ever. 

By 9:30 there are mobs of tourists charging there way through Oxford Circus to Picadilly. We wander some lanes, stopping for a snack and to use the loo which smells so bad neither of my children can bring themselves to go, then head over to watch the pageantry of the changing of the guards. We haven't seen so many people in one place for so long and its a huge area so I can’t even estimate the size of this teeming mass of people with their backpacks, sneakers and unmissable look of tourist. We luck in and get ourselves a seat on the curb with a prime view of the guards and the band. They're very serious about not getting in the way of the guards here and they've been known to run people down if they get in the way.

We head through St James park to watch the other guards march through and then stroll toward Big Ben. April has been wanting to come to London just to see Big Ben so she's very happy to look up and see Elizabeth Tower which holds Big Ben who is actually the bell. We’ve walked for hours and the kids can barely stay standing, we’re jetlagged so head home for a nap.

Back at the apartment with a reem of paper I'm trying to wash some clothes in the combined washer/dryer, there's every instruction except which cycle does what so inevitably I cook the washing and the capsule of liquid on a dryer cycle instead of washing it.  Hot dirty socks don’t smell great people. 

It’s great to be back in London, the draft of hot air blasting you face as you head underground to the tube platforms, the screech of the approaching train, a towering mountain of gliding steel teeth as you gaze up the impossibly long escalator to street level. The history visible in every building facade interspersed with gleaming bold new ones, the people watching here is next level and our favourite today is the dude striding along, music blaring, with a pug poking his  curious little face from the gap in his backpack. 

 

The noisy corner on the tube home.