It's Christmas in the West End of London

It's Christmas in the West End of London

It was another memorable day out in the West End of London. My lovely family were gathered together for the festivities of the year and all around us it was unmistakably atmospheric, cold as the kitchen fridge, deliciously wintry, darkness falling inexplicably at tea time but the cosiness and human warmth of these special moments meant the world to us all. Christmas is ten days away and yet it felt as if the proceedings had started yesterday, the streets of the West End top heavy with glitter, tinsel, baubles and impressive trees. 

Wherever you looked, there was a magnificent resplendence in the air, lights glistening, shining, hanging loosely and freely, liberated from the cares and woes of the world, oblivious to the concerns and troubles that continue to bedevil the whole Christian world. Christmas is, quite obviously uniting, reassuring, inviting, making us all feel a whole lot better about ourselves because the world just seems like some beckoning finger luring us into the happiest party you're ever likely to see. And wow it certainly was.

Yesterday we rushed after a boat we thought and were convinced we were going to miss but just made in the nick of time. We sighed and despaired because the chronic traffic on the London Tube train system and the bus network had deliberately ganged up against us and threatened to render yesterday's event impossible. So we breathed a massive sigh of relief, composed our thoughts, filed onto the boat in orderly fashion and enjoyed the whole occasion immensely. 

It was scheduled as a leisurely and deeply rewarding boat trip on old Father Thames, taking in the sights and sounds of both the river and those wonderfully imposing buildings that sit comfortably by the side of the Thames and have done so for centuries. There were the permanent dockside reminders of Victorian yesteryears when the lighters and container ships containing vast consignments of tobacco, coffee, sugar, spices and every conceivable drink and alcohol would sail up and down this most famous stretch of water serenely, bursting with Eastern promise and delivering to the West without batting an eye lid. 

Then, for the first mile or so of our trip, there were the innumerable wharves, once fertile grounds for industrial activity, bustling with hard working men wearing caps, shirts and waistcoats, hauling, lifting, heaving up and down, shouting, whistling, cheering and generally abandoning themselves to the admirable work ethic of the day. It was reminiscent of the way things used to be but no longer are. Admittedly, the pleasure boats, cruisers and speedboats, still cutting through the foam of the river with power and purpose, were still the River Thames in all its finery and greatness. 

But we were customers, tourists and passengers on our boat. We were lavished with excessive hospitality, an afternoon tea that none of us had experienced on a river before. Smartly dressed members of staff glided between the stately tables and chairs, pots of tea and coffee pouring from designer kettles and then the piece de resistance, the triangular shaped sandwiches, scones with jam and cream and then those mouth wateringly irresistible cakes. It was civilised, somehow quintessentially English and hugely satisfying. 

Our wonderful son Sam, equally as lovely daughter in law Lucy, our beautiful grandson Arthur and always pretty wife Bev looked immaculate. This had been their much appreciated birthday present and this felt like the most perfect surprise. We gazed admiringly at the Christmas tree white as snow by the quayside, the winking cafes and restaurants, the magnificent looking fairground that looked like something out of a Dickens Christmas Carol, blinking yellow and orange lights and, slowly but surely,  those handsome bridges that just seemed to be waiting for humanity to pass under them.

After seeing the River Thames in all his matchless splendour, we climbed off the boat and back onto dry land. You felt like Captain Cook conquering new lands and territories but then realised that you clearly weren't and just smiled at the innocence of it all. So you clambered back onto the pavements, roads and streets, heading excitedly back towards the West End of London where yet more visually spectacular light shows were somehow expecting us. 

Amongst the tidal wave of the human population, surging towards London Tube trains as if this had been the last day before the shops closed and every shelf had been emptied, all was frantic urgency. We made for Trafalgar Square, now a pedestrian rather than pigeon heaven, with its fairy tale fountains, the lion statues  permanent fixtures and the plinth with its mysterious art gallery of faces. It looked like one of those massive Rubik cubes only with small white cubes. Then there were the startling white bulbs of the Christmas market with, presumably, hundreds of turkeys, mince pies, chocolate biscuits and Christmas pullovers and not forgetting more festive paraphernalia.

Grandson Arthur, by now securely strapped into his pushchair in thick coat and clothing, was beaming widely, his face a picture of wonderment and incredulity. Now we were heading into Regent Street, undoubtedly one of the most famous shopping streets in the whole of the globe. Regent Street always looks stunning regardless of the time of the year. Now though it looked a peach. 

You can still remember wandering around Regent Street and Oxford Street during Covid 19, shocked and mortified by the horrendous emptiness and desolation of the West End. But all had changed quite remarkably and splendidly. Once more, thousands and, seemingly millions of people from all four points of the geographical compass, had arrived and converged on the West End of London. They were marching and traipsing around you, power walking, streaming forwards in marauding armies, groups of families, daytrippers, Christmas window shoppers flashing past you in huge processions that seemed relentless. 

Accompanied by our patient and understanding two year old pomapoo Barney we bumped and brushed our way considerately past hundreds and thousands cramming and then filling up completely every available space on the pavements. Then though you looked up at the night skies and although far from a bitter disappointment, the Christmas lights and decorations were ablaze but not quite the ones you were hoping to see. 

Above us, Regent Street was an amazing cornucopia of sparkling white lights, hugely impressive angel's wings in white but little else. The essential colour was sadly missing and not the ones you remembered from childhood. Then your brilliant mum and dad would point at the gleaming Christmas trees with red, green, blue, purple, yellow and orange baubles, bells and lanterns just glowing with festive cheer. There was no tinsel and glitter, no Santas with bristling white beards and sleigh bells with reindeers. 

Still, here we were now at Hamley's, surely the most astonishing toy shop you'd ever witnessed both as a child and now as a proud grandparent. Hamley's is a child's playground, an enormous concentration of thousands of teddy bears, board games, wondrous electronic gadgets, flying planes that resembled drones whizzing around the respective floors of this venerable building. There were dolls, racing tracks, cars and sports cars operated by batteries. There were magicians displaying yet more card tricks, Paddington bears, sweets, shelves that beeped and cackled, laughed and smiled with more kids toys and one teddy bear in a glass cabinet that would have set you back the princely sum of over a thousand pounds. 

And so it was that we began to wend our way back to a bus, surprisingly comfortable after the hustle and bustle of the day. We all exchanged pleasantries and recollections of Christmases long since past and were grateful for everything in life. There was something very heart warming and therapeutic about the whole retail experience. You had to be there to see and believe it. Christmas may have been just over a week away but this was a Saturday to remember and savour. Christmas should never lose its indefinable charm because the families of the world just want it to remain that way. And there can be nothing wrong with that, surely.