London: It's a Funny Old Place

*Once again, like many of these posts, this was written in the summer of 2009*

The same can be said for the likes of Manchester, Glasgow, Birmingham and most other major cities in the UK, but one of the great luxuries of living in London is, as has been shown by our nights at
The Bedford and
Somerset House, a quick look through an event’s list in the paper or on the Internet can throw up something to cater for almost all tastes and bank balances. Something which is absolutely crucial for mid July as, for millions, six weeks of school holidays stretch out ahead of them, no lessons or homework and endless possibilities of how to have fun, well in theory anyway. The
child poverty figures referred to earlier and the amount of kids living in work-less homes here in the capital means the reality for many is very different.

“Must try harder” wasn’t the only report causing parents concern as kids were leaving school for the last time in the academic year, with a survey revealing that London has the highest cost for local authority child care in the country. Outer London is the most expensive in the UK at £103 per week, with inner city areas coming second at just over £60 per week (figures as of July 2009), meaning that even those who are in work will have other priorities, being more concerned with what to do with the kids while at work, rather than how best to keep them entertained when not.

So while many families living in London worked out how to manage the next few weeks, both time and financially, another story which emerged on the same day demonstrated the polar opposites of lifestyle within this city of ours. The West End was said to be bracing itself for what was described as an “oil rush”, with Arabic tourists set to spend £250m between July and the start of Ramadan in September. Some shop-workers had learnt Arabic to prepare for the influx, with major stores even widening aisles to cater for the fact that many middle-eastern tourists shop in large groups: this is taking girls in Topshop to a totally different planet!

According to the
New West End Company, Arabs out spend Americans by 60 per cent, if a major Middle Eastern royal family decides to come here that figure will rocket yet further, not least because, doing their best sheep-like being seen to do what the best do impression, tourists from that part of the world will go where the monarch has chosen for their summer retail therapy fix.

With so much money at stake it’s hardly surprising businesses will go out of their way to meet the needs of these mega-rich customers, it’s the same principal as when a major celebrity wants to visit the Harrods of this world: we’ve all seen pictures of department store floors or even whole shops being closed off so that X can browse without having to mingle with us, the lowlife member of the public. The famous are noted for their eccentric, attention grabbing fashion statements, yet they would never fall fowl of a dress code. Not so the lady who grabbed the headlines around the same time as the rich folk from abroad were due to arrive, being refused entry into one West End shop on the grounds that her six inch purple Mohican didn’t fit with the kind of style said retail outlet wanted to appeal to: I bet BritneySpears in her bald headed day would never have been turned away from anywhere.

This opens up a whole knew topic for discussion, or on this particular issue, ranting, that of impractical dress codes. Now I’m not for one minute suggesting city workers should turn up in Speedos and a Santa hat, although that would be bloody hilarious, but when the temperature passes 30 degrees, surely there’s no need for a suit? I mean, these people must be sweating buckets by the time they get to work and let’s face it; we all have body Oder issues to a greater or lesser extent. Is not wearing a tie or jacket really worse than being too sweaty? Surely how someone looks is less important than how they smell?

I have no problem with standards, I don’t even object to posh restaurants and bars expecting you to dress up to enter their premises, think of the mess that would be made of their lovely carpets if people wandered in with their muddy trainers on, but an increasing number of average pubs seem to be trying to elevate their status by having bouncers on the door banning you from entering if you’re not wearing smart shoes. Which reminds me, once, having been to a gig in Hyde Park, I and one other fancied another pint and, having already had one or two, alright, a few more than one or two, we decided that was the night to try and gain entry to
The Ritz, one of the most prestigious hotels in the UK.

“Sorry sirs,” the apologetic man on the door said, “no jeans allowed in here.”

Clearly scruffy hair and trainers weren’t at the top of his “you’re not coming in here” list that night.

“Can we come in if we take them off?” we replied, already making to do just that.

We were laughed at, but strongly encouraged to seek an alternative watering hole.

I can appreciate that a couple of student-looking types is not what they want in The Ritz, but what I’ve never been able to work out is, how does a genuine undesirable get spotted if they happen to have put a suit on? How many bad guys in films or TV shows go unnoticed because they blend into their surroundings?

To illustrate my point, in August 2009, £40M worth of jewellery was stolen from an exclusive shop on New Bond Street. The robbers gained entry past the security guard, threatened staff with hand guns and made off with their haul and a female hostage. Naturally, in order to lessen suspicion when approaching the building, the men were wearing suits.

Etiquette is fine up to a point, but it’s also a barrier judgemental people can hide behind, the lady with the purple Mohican could well have been a thoroughly decent person, but was looked down upon because of appearance.

One of the more common words which came up when I did my,
what do you think of when you hear the word London test was diverse, which is something that should be celebrated, not looked down upon by some snob who happens to be wearing a tie.

Let’s just pause for a moment and reflect on what’s been covered in the last few pages. We had a pub which hosted early shows for some of the biggest bands this country has produced, that now has a comedy night which has been running for twenty-five years and, in the 19th century, staged the trial that resulted in a poisoning case being left unproven, a once royal palace now the venue for rock concerts and an outdoor icerink, the financial golf between parents in London having to scrape together cash for child care while the rich Arabs come and spend millions in the West End where, at the same time, a woman was barred from shopping because she had a funky hairstyle. All of this written from me simply walking out of my front door, finding out about the places I go to for entertainment and taking a bit of notice of what the London media report and, all within the space of a few days. To put this another way, the last couple of thousand words was a very rough, whistle stop tour of what fell into my lap from being in London. So if that’s what I can get with the minimum of effort in just one week, what might I find over a far longer period?

Derm derm deeeerrrrrm … read on to find out.

Rhyming Slang alternatives for some of the things I’ve talked about in this chapter:

If someone has bad B.O, like say for example, some overdressed city type on the tube, you might say that fella’s got right bad Riddick (Riddick Bo).

There are plenty of options for pub, depending on whether you want to call it a pub (rubber dub dub), or a boozer (cabin cruiser).

Once in the battle cruiser, chances are you’d stick around for a few Britneys, or, if you’re oldschool, Ray Mears.

If you have one too many Rays or, if you prefer, Apple Fritters, on a regular basis, the old Matthew Kelly might start to look a bit on the flabby side. In the short term, a heavy night out might result in you crashing on a Judy Dench, with or without the left overs of your Andy McNab round ya north and south.