London, November 13, 2025
One of our favorite things to do in London is go to some of our favorite areas and do a bit of shopping for our special people!
The day started with a stroll around the corner from the hotel so that Sue could check the musical offerings at St. Martins in the Fields. In the meantime I had a little fun with my little pocket camera.
On the way to Covent Garden we passed a Waterstone and played our version of Where’s Waldo.
The author of said volume had given us some lovely tea from Mariage Frères for Christmas one year, and, as we passed their store, we couldn’t resist popping in and getting some tea for some people we know.
Why the salesladies in a French tea boutique were all Japanese will remain a mystery.
Sure, the covered market is horribly touristy, but it is also lots of fun during what the Brits call the festive season.
A couple of stops were mandatory!
Sue is constantly amazed by what’s in bloom in November.
I was in more or less desperate need of a sweater, having been unusually generous to our hungry moths over the summer. We tried an outdoor store where a friendly young man recommended a shop specializing in knitwear on Neal Street, a busy shopping street leading from the Covent Garden tube station to Shaftesbury Avenue. Finisterre turned out to be a British brand specializing in outdoor wear.
As the image suggests, they started as a surf brand. I found some very nice stuff at reasonable prices.
We were a bit loaded down, so we retreated to the hotel to unburden ourselves. After a short break, we made yet another tea run, this time to the inevitable Fortnum and Mason.
We escaped with just the tea…and a Christmas Pudding!
After a suitably restorative tea break at the hotel, we plunged into the crowds on the Strand headed for Saint Paul’s and our yearly dose of Evensong.
We reached St. Paul’s in the gloaming.
The area has a remarkable mixture of the old (mostly Christopher Wren) and the new (mostly überCapitalism).
On the way into the cathedral, we passed the coffee shop where we had breakfasted a year ago with Sarah, Dan, and the girls.
It sits just alongside Wren’s Temple Bar Gate from 1672. The gate served as the ceremonial gate to the City of London until 1878, when it became a bottleneck to the trade flowing in and out of the City. It was carefully dismantled, with the original stone from the Isle of Portland put into storage. In 1880 the brewer Henry Meux bought the stones and re-erected the arch as the facade of a new gatehouse in the park of his mansion house Theobolds Park in Hertfordshire. In the late 20th century the gate was bought by a trust; it was painstakingly reassembled at its present location, the entrance to the Paternoster Square development.
We never know what to expect from Evensong at St. Paul’s: some days we find a boy choir and an adult choir, some days only the grown ups. Some days some of the audience is allowed to sit alongside the choristers in the choir chairs, some years not. This year was adult choir and no audience in the choir stalls. But it is always lovely and deeply moving.
The tube brought us quickly to Oxford Street, since we had one last stop on our grandchild tour: Selfridges, with its enormous collection of (Ingrid, quit reading) Jelly Cats. When we emerged, it had started raining harder: nothing major, but a steady light rain. A couple of bus rides brought us to the brightly lit Sloane Square.
It was raining pretty hard, so we hopped in a cab for the last stretch down the King’s Road to our dinner at the Cadogan Arms.
If you follow these pages, you know that we like gastropubs. And the Cadogan Arms rates highly. The old pub has had a total refit that retains its character while adding some genuine beauty. Here is what it probably looks like without the hordes of people standing three deep, flagon in hand.
The dining area is at the end of the bar, down a few steps, and similarly gorgeous, with its original worked tin ceiling. The clientele isn’t bad either.
Our dinner was excellent. Although the chef was recruited from the Harwood Arms, the menu sticks as much to the pub as to the gastro. We shared a scotch egg; Sue had a beautifully gamey roast pheasant while I had a wonderful chicken pie. And we finished with the best Stick Toffee Pudding ever.