Notting Hill Carnival!

Yes, I have been a very bad blogger. On this blog, anyway. I have some nice photos to post of a little jaunt down Regents Park Canal, but downloading them created multiple issues and I got tired of trying. Maybe next week!

It's the August Bank Holiday weekend -- the last holiday before Christmas! And every year at this time, almost a million people flock to the Notting Hill Carnival for music, food and the pinnacle of it all: the Parade, where hundreds of drummers pound out the beat as crowds line the streets.

Here's a few photos from last year's celebrations to get you in the mood.

Have a great long weekend!

Arts Mentoring: Launch Party!

I'm in an utter disbelief that it's actually June! And for once, London weather seems to be co-operating. After a week or so of being plunged back into winter, we've emerged into the light: pale, blinking and stunned. The sun is shining, people are going crazy with shorts... I hope it lasts!

This Saturday night, The Man and I will be putting on our finery (if I can find some) and heading down to Westbourne Grove for the launch party of the Arts Mentoring Charity. I can't wait -- it's going be a blast and it's for a great cause; who could ask for more? If you're in London and want to get a ticket, go here.

Here's some more information on the charity:

Arts Mentoring is a new charity set up by 3 Notting Hill residents who wanted to bring the joy of the arts to children around the world who have not had the chances we’ve had. We decided to do something about this and Arts Mentoring is the outcome. We will be raising funds and recruiting artists to spend time in orphanages bringing their own talents and enthusiasms to those children.
By ‘arts’ we mean everyone involved in artistic expression from singers, to actors, to painters, photographers, musicians but not limited to these at all!

At Artsmentoring we know we have had the luxury of personal experience in the arts and have always been keen supporters but we know that these experiences are not typical for millions of children around the world and in the UK and it was time to help change this. Children whose lives are hard can find joy through the arts as they see another side to life, have a chance to express themselves and learn skills that may change their lives.

See you there!

Mind the Barnet!

Barnet = Cockney for hair

You don't want your barnet to look like this, do you? (Oh wait, I'm not meant to be poking fun at him anymore...)

As anyone who has known me for awhile can attest, I am obsessed by hair (athough in recent weeks it's lucky if it gets brushed!). Over the years, my hair has been long and short; red and black; blond; and back again several times. I'm willing to wear clothes from Primark, to eat rice and pasta for weeks on end, but I'm not willing to skimp on my hair. What can I say, I'm just that shallow -- or I have a medical condition, hairophelia (I made that up, just in case it wasn't obvious).

When I moved to London, one of my biggest concerns was not whether I could find work or not. No, it was this: who would I find to cut my hair? I'd had several bad experiences in Poland, where I couldn't speak enough Polish to accurately express what I wanted. I looked up 'highlights' in my Polish-English dictionary, then crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

I had one distinct advantage in London: I could speak English. And over the course of several years, I finally found the stylist for me. Here are my top London recommendations:

Hair by Fairy, 8-10 Neal's Yard. Tube: Tottenham Court Road. http://www.hairbyfairy.com/. If you're anxious for a cut and you don't want the fuss of making an appointment, just head over to Neal's Yard. From punk cuts to simple trims, they'll have you in and out in no time... and there's a great organic restaurant across the courtyard in case you get hungry. Cheap and cheerful.

Toni and Guy, Kensington Church Street. Tube: Notting Hill Gate or High Street Kensington. Before I settled down with one man (my stylist, I mean), I'd go here every once in awhile. I was never disappointed. Although they seem to have a high turnover, all the stylists are friendly and competent.


And my favourite...

Gina Conway Aveda, Westbourne Grove. Tube: Bayswater, Queensway or Notting Hill Gate. It ain't cheap, but it's worthy paying when the results are this good (if I do say so myself). Ask for Kenny or Patrice, and relax. You're in the hands of masters.

Wandering Around Notting Hill

I'm in Cairo right now soaking up some sun and no doubt stuffing myself silly, but here's an old post I wrote awhile back...

Wandering about Notting Hill a few days ago, I remembered how great the whole area is. I know I keep banging on about it, but I really do feel lucky to live so close to iconic places like Portobello Road on one side and Kensington Gardens on the other. On the weekends, The Man and I often go for walks to take-in the local sights.

One of our favourite routes is up Kensington Church Street to Notting Hill Gate, our closest tube. From there, we turn right and follow the crowds up the curving street towards Portobello Road. The whole look of the architecture changes from gleaming white Victorian terraces to small, brightly painted cottages. Notting Hill used to be piggeries in Victorian times, and then a slum in the 1960s, home to Caribbean immigrants. The whole area got a lift when the film Notting Hill came out, and since then has continued its gentrification. Housing prices have shot up and now the area is populated by media and film types, known as 'Notting Hillies'.


Standing at the top of Portobello Road, you see a mish-mash of different stalls on the narrow road and brightly coloured houses and cafes lining the street. The road is known for its variety of antiques, and many people come looking for bargains, but I think it's pretty safe to say that there won't be any bargains found here! As in any touristy spot, prices are jacked up and haggling is pretty much a no-go (but you can try!). Mixed between the jumbled antiques are cheap clothing stands selling scarfs and other items that will fall apart after one washing.

Further on down the road is where my favourite bit begins. You have the infamous Electric Cinema, where a ticket for £15 gets you a leather armchair and side table for the duration of a film. There's a bar in the back of the cinema where you can nip back to buy any drink you like. It's so comfortable, the only issue is keeping your eyes open!

The accompanying Electric Brasserie is a sure place to spot celebs and is buzzing every night. Great cocktails, too!

Hummingbird Cupcakes makes 'fairy cakes' (as they're called here) to die for, my favourite being red velvet which has a chocolate centre and cream cheese frosting. I'm salivating just thinking about it! And across the street is Gail's, an organic bakery/cafe with great sandwiches, quiches and coffee.

If none of that does it for you, you can always catch a bite to eat from the many stalls selling everything from Bratwurst to Paella and lovely churros with chocolate sauce for dessert.Mixed between the restaurants and cafes that dominate this stretch are some funky shops with one-off buys. One of my favs is Fussy Nation. If you're looking for a card unlike any other, than this is the place to get it. My favourite bizarre thing I saw there was the 'Jesus Action Figure' set.

As you continue down the street, you'll come across the fruit and veg stalls, with the traders looking like they've stepped straight out of 1960's East London. And then the Westway, a enormous motorway overpass, looms and just when you think it's over, you discover a whole new massive clothing, vintage and jewellery market underneath. You could get lost in there for hours looking at the treasure trove of items.

And if that leaves you hungry again, there's the best place in London for falafels: Falafel King. Even The Man agrees that this is fine stuff (and having grown up with the food, I trust his judgment).

Into the Sea... of People

The way to the Notting Hill Carnival... if you're brave enough.


The sea of people awaiting the parade.

(There would have been more photos but my hands were greasy with jerk chicken! For some more pictures, courtesy of The Guardian, click here.)

Batten Down the Hatches!

The colourful costumes of the parade last year.

No, it's not a storm but it does pack quite a punch... it's the Notting Hill Carnival!

Held the last weekend in August (traditionally a bank holiday weekend), the Carnival is Europe's largest street party. Anywhere from 300,000 to half a million people flood the area... in which I happen to live! The height of the two-day party is the street parade on Monday, full of eye-popping colour and heady beats you can't help but groove to.

While I'm not right in the heart of Notting Hill, I'm within a 10-minute walk of the festivities... which means I'm on what I've come to call the 'puke and pee' route. As much as I love the food, dance, costumes and music that come with the Carnival, I do not like the drunken noise all night, not to mention the piles of rubbish and vomit outside my front gate.

Strolling to our local video store, we couldn't help but notice the shop-fronts being boarded up with plywood, and the row of portable toilets that line the roads. Police cars cruised by, and the streets seemed devoid of life. It was liking the area was preparing for a hurricane, or something.

And in a way, it is!

Bring it on - minus the puke and pee.

Boarded-up shop-fronts and rubbish-lined streets.

It's Crude to Be Rude

I was motivated to write this in reaction to something I witnessed today at my local Tesco's at Notting Hill Gate. In fact, I've witnessed similar incidents more than once: Customers deriding the staff who are only doing their jobs. It's dreadful to watch and, as a former member of the service industry, makes me very, very angry. In my previous part-time job, I was told to 'shut up', called 'stupid', and had my accent insulted. But I'm an educated woman with plenty of other options. I didn't need that job and could just laugh it off.

Most of the people who work at my Tesco's branch are immigrants. They probably don't have a lot of other choices available, and they likely don't make much money. They can speak English (at least all the ones I have encountered over my many visits there for the past five years). Yes, they do have bit of an accent. But it's not exactly a hindrance to scanning a grapefruit. Yet the number of times I have seen customers mock their accents or speak in loud patronising tones is cringe-worthy. And I'm certain those being mocked don't find it as easy to laugh off as I did when it happened to me.

I was standing in the queue with my £3 bottle of wine (among other things) when two men entered the store -- a big guy and his side-kick (possibly his son, but if so that's really messed up). Big Man jumps the queue -- a sin comparable to serial murder in British society -- and heads straight for the middle-aged Asian woman behind the till.

'Why couldn't 'e buy them cigarettes?' Big Man asks loudly in a strong East-End accent. He points toward Side Kick who's busy examining the floor.

The woman explains quietly and politely that it's Tesco store policy not to sell cigarettes to anyone unless they can prove they're over 18. I steal a glance at Side Kick, who looks about 16 max.

'I can't understand a word she's saying,' Big Man shouts back to Side Kick. Side Kick shrugs and the woman, now red-faced, repeats her explanation. The queue, by this time, has now grown exponentially and of course everyone is desperately trying not to look at the scene unfolding in front of us.

Big Man shakes his head. 'Nope, still don't get it.'

It's like a scene straight from 'Little Britain'. By this time the poor woman looks like she's about to burst into tears, and I'm about to clunk the idiot over the head with my wine. I don't want to break it, though.

'She said: HE CAN'T BUY CIGARETTES UNLESS HE CAN PROVE HE'S OVER 18!' I say loudly and clearly to Big Man before I can stop myself.

Big Man swivels to face me. He stares for a second then shouts over to Side Kick:

'Why does everyone in this bloody store have an accent?'

Wag #3: Friends? I Think Not

This week's WAG was to write about a stranger you encounter with whom you might like to be friends. I'm going to digress a bit, only because I'm can't resist writing about a man I ran across yesterday on Portobello Road.

_______

I sip my strong coffee as the unfamiliar sun caresses my head. No gloves, no coat - it feels like freedom after the gloominess of a London winter. Lionel Richie floats through the mild air from a nearby old-school ghetto blaster. The street is slowly stretching its Sunday morning arms. Ahhhhhhh...

'Am I annoying you?'

Hunh? My eyes fly open. At the next table, a middle-aged posh-looking man has settled into the chair next to a complete stranger.

'No, you're alright, mate,' the stranger says, engrossed in his newspaper.

'I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' says Posh Man, swaying slightly in his chair.

Stranger barely looks up. 'Sounds like a messy night,' he says in a typically understated British way.

Posh Man looks offended. 'No, not messy. Not messy at all. I'm just coming down. I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' he repeats, louder, in case any of us have missed it.

Stranger continues with his newpaper. Silence falls.

'I'm the best film maker on this street. Too bad my wife has left me. Man, she was hot.' He points to Stranger. 'Now, if she was with you, I'd be impressed. You're rich. Not as rich as me. I have a Rolex that used to be owned by Frank Sinatra. I'm the best film maker on this street.'

Stranger folds his paper now, giving up. 'No, no, I'm not rich.'

'You are!' Posh Man protests. 'You have a Patek Philippe watch.'

At this, I have to steal a glance at Stranger's watch. I have only heard about Patek Philippe in Vogue, and even I know they're worth thousands of pounds.

Stranger doesn't deny it. He puts his paper under his arm and gets up. Silence descends again, until another couple nab the table where Posh Man is sitting. Posh Man looks their way.

'I smoked seven grams of cocaine and had six hookers last night,' he says, delighted to have a new audience.

And it goes on. The Man and I get up to leave, stifling our laughter.

'He's a nutter!' The Man says.

'But he looked so posh...'

'He's wearing a bow-tie,' The Man responds assuredly. 'The mad ones always wear bow-ties.'

Fairy Cakes, Cupcakes... Whatever the Name, They're Goooood!

My first memory of cupcakes is when I baked some (with my Mum's help) for a Sunday School cooking competition. I might have been four or five at the time. They looked great until I took a tumble walking them over to the table for display and they went flying into the gravelled drive. We secretly picked out all the pebbles and I think they won some kind of ribbon, probably for the crunchiest.

Cupcakes -- or fairy cakes, as they're known on this side of the pond -- always have the power to put me in mind of birthday parties or end-of-year school celebrations, something out-of-the ordinary that gives the whole day a special tinge. So when I heard that Hummingbird Bakery was creating a special Valentine's cupcake, I couldn't resist.

Hummingbird cupcakes. Image courtesy of the Daily Mail - mine didn't last long enough for photos!

I've been a Hummingbird addict for some time now. Smack in the middle of Portobello Road, their cupcakes are so delicious it's as if they've dropped straight from the sugar god. A moist, tender cake topped with creamy, sweet frosting, I can't devour them fast enough. Apparently I'm not the only one. Every time I've been to their tiny shop, the queues stretch out the door -- even on weekdays, when the market isn't on.

Queue outside the bakery in December 2008.

As much as I love the quirkiness of the Saturday Portobello Market, I'm definitely not a big fan of the crowds. But even this was not enough to put me off my quest for Hummingbird's Valentine cupcakes. Pushing through the tourists (strangely, there always seems to be loads of Italians?) and past the stalls selling everything from rugby balls to brass door handles, I finally got to the door -- where, as expected, no fewer than 15 people were waiting. At £2.50, the cupcakes aren't cheap, but they're well worth the wait. I chose my favorites: a chocolaty cake topped with cream cheese frosting, and a vanilla sponge smothered in chocolate frosting.

Through our Valentine's dinner in Soho and Vicky Cristina Barcelona at the Curzon, all I could think about were those cupcakes awaiting us at home. Finally, the moment was upon us. Two brief gulps and it was over -- a little drop of sweetness at the end of the day.

Neighbourhood History

Coming from a country where 'old' generally means anything pre-1950 (OK, I'm exaggerating here, but still -- Canada wasn't even a country until 1867), I'm constantly amazed by the history of things around me. This includes the very neighborhood in which we live.

The Man moved to England from his native Cairo almost 11 years ago now, and our flat in Kensington was his first London abode. He knew the area mainly because of the Royal Albert Hall, which he'd read about from Egypt whenever a famous musician from his country would play there. When the estate agent showed him the flat, he immediately put in an offer.

I can see why. Our flat is tiny (by Canadian standards) and on a busy street, but you can't beat the location. We're on a stretch well known for its antique shops, smack between Notting Hill Gate and High Street Kensington, and only five minutes to Kensington Palace and the green of Hyde Park. Surrounded by tiny bookshops, great pubs and wonderful cafes and coffee shops, it's a wonder we still have any money left!

And in the summer when the Proms are on, The Man still can't believe his good fortune as he relives his childhood dream of walking through Kensington Gardens to the Royal Albert Hall and listening to some of the world's best music for only a fiver.

As part of his Christmas gift, I found some old photos of our neighbourhood. It really brought home to me how wonderful it is to live in an area that's existed for hundreds of years, and how we're now part of its fabric.

High Street Kensington, 1811

High Street Kensington, 1929.

Notting Hill Gate, 1800s

Notting Hill Gate, 1920s

Muzio Clementi's house, Kensington Church Street

Kensington Church Street, 1970s

Portobello Wanderings

My love for London was rekindled recently after wandering around Portobello. It's a good place to get into the Christmas spirit.

Buying a Christmas tree outside the Duke of Wellington pub. These ones cost £45!



Inside the Duke of Wellington, purveyors of the saltiest nachos I have ever tasted.



Fruit and veg.


Stirring massive skillets of paella.


Crowds on Portobello under a darkening sky.


A sea of buttons.


Queue for delicious cupcakes outside Hummingbird Bakery.

My Perfect London Day

After reading Londonelicious' description of the perfect London day, I was inspired to write my own. So... here's my perfect London day!

Weather (since it plays such a major role in London life):
18 degrees Celsius, clear blue sky and aeroplane tracks criss-crossing above me.

8 am (I'm not one for sleeping in):
Mammoth croissants and strong coffee with warm milk at Patisserie Valerie, Kensington Church St. It will be crowded as usual, a nice buzz, with waiters dodging between tables. Lovely blackberry and raspberry conserves in their tiny jars dot the table.

8:45 am:
Meander through Kensington Gardens while it's still quiet, down around the Serpentine Lake, and loop back to Kensington Church St.

10 am:
Check out Kensington Farmer's Market just behind Waterstone's. Drool over the cheeses, meats and fresh veggies.10:30 am:Peruse the best sellers and 'Local Authors' sections at Waterstone's. Spot my novel on the shelf. (I can dream!)

10:45 am:
Head to Portobello Market, which for some reason will not be over-run with tourists. Pick up a Red Velvet cupcake at Hummingbird on the way through. Browse the stalls under the Westway and pick up some bargain vintage one-offs.

12 pm:
Lunch at Falafel King just across from the Westway.

1 pm:
Head to the South Bank. Buy a drink (or two) on the terrace of the Royal Festival Hall and watch the buskers on the promenade below, and the boats on the Thames. Walk down to the Tate Modern, attend the Rothko exhibit, then walk across the Millennium Bridge to Blackfriar's and St Paul's. Have an sickly sweet Tarte de Pommes at the French bakery Paul and a cup of tea, then head back across the bridge to the Carpenter's Arms pub, where a crisp glass of white wine awaits (I've just reread this and noticed how much eating and drinking there is -- on a perfect day, I wouldn't get full nor unpleasantly drunk).

4 pm:
Pick up a bottle of champagne and back through the park to the Royal Albert Hall, where we set up camp across from the Hall to drink the champage and pass the time before listening to Yo Yo Ma in the gallery at the Proms.

9 pm:
Down High Street Kensington for the best burger (I am North American, after all) at Byron. Walk back home in dusk through Holland Park, listening to the lingering notes of the outdoor opera float on the air.

Honourable mentions:
Brick Lane, Wigmore Hall, Camden Market, Borough Market, Sadler's Wells, Balans, Liberty, Selfridges, Whole Food Market, Harvey Nichols, Royal Court Theatre, L'Oriel, Black and Blue, Le Pain Quotidienne... I'm going to stop now!

Notting Hill on a Sunday Morning

I took this shot of the gleaming white terraces on our way to meet some friends for brunch at Raoul's in Notting Hill. It was a cold day (by London standards, anyway) and the sky was a brilliant blue. And Raoul's was good, too! The perfect Sunday morning.