In a disastrous chronological mishap, my last post completely left out a family trip to Kelsey Park in Beckenham one Saturday afternoon. So, to correct the record: the highlight was seeking out a shady lunch spot in the long grass to share some very generously cheesy chips. And I guess if we’re doing historical recordkeeping, I should also record (in case I ever look back at this) that we’re still in the middle of the absurdly hot summer of 2026. It’s far hotter than necessary, and while I’m not saying I want the Gulf Stream to collapse, the thought has crossed my mind…
On another one of these scorching July days, the three of us journeyed to St Albans for a reunion with two of my former English teachers. I realise at this point I should refer to them as ‘Alison’ and ‘Luna’ rather than Ms Hook and Ms Rupchand respectively, but it’s a difficult habit to break. So, while we lulled our child to sleep with a buggy ride around St Albans Cathedral, the adults enjoyed Ms Hook’s impromptu tour of the building before settling down to a delicious Turkish meze lunch. (In these divisive times, I found the display of artwork by local schoolchildren celebrating their local mosques to be unexpectedly moving.)
It was a wonderful catch-up, but I did learn the very sad news that Sue Wales – another of my former English teachers – had recently died. She was incredibly formative in my life: constructing my secondary school class in her role as Deputy Head, publicly instructing me to “look after Josh” on our first day as he was the only kid from his primary school (which I assumed meant he was a refugee) and going on to teach us English, which was a hoot. Probably my fondest memory was her exasperation when someone was reluctant to read the word ‘bosom’ out loud, which she solved by forcing every single one of us to say ‘bosom’ in turn in an attempt to desensitise us. She will be greatly missed.
The following Sunday, Randi and I were totally spoilt by Tash and Cormac for our joint birthday present, starting with a trip to see the animals of Surrey Docks Farm (including two enormous pigs and a rabbit named Roger) before we all walked over to the Mayflower for an extravagant lunch together. This was just a totally lovely afternoon all round.
A couple of days later, we were equally excited to host Katie and Kim for a few days. Kim had flown all the way from Australia with a sample of Cadbury’s Top Deck chocolate for us, which raised the obvious question of why Britain is being denied this excellent milk & white chocolate mix. Meanwhile, on Thursday night, the Self siblings convened for Italian food in Wapping before a nostalgic evening stroll around Shadwell.
Other summer adventures have included a trip to Randi’s family namesake, The Lawrence Arms, which turns out to be named after a former wine bar (“Mr Lawrence Wine Bar”) and does rather suggest that Mr. Lawrence is high on entrepreneurship but low on naming creativity. (Excellent vibes, though.) We’ve also enjoyed an impromptu tapas night out in East Dulwich and some very strong drinks (and sometimes spicy conversations) at Campaign Lab’s summer BBQ at Newspeak House. Special kudos to the heroes there who kept the food cooking all day!
I also went out for drinks one evening with Jan, an old colleague from my Groupon London days. Along with providing some wise life advice, he was also able to confirm my existing biases with some stories from the world of fintech. These are exactly the kind of stories you want to hear over drinks.
Finally, today we travelled to Sussex to spend an afternoon with Simon, Fleur and family. This was so much fun, especially seeing the siblings playing together, and we had fun baking many human-flavoured pies. In the spirit of train nerdiness which I share with Simon, it also felt appropriate to catch my first glimpse of the new GBR livery in the wild on the journey down. And talking of firsts: before bedtime tonight Randi and I performed an inaugural tooth brushing for baby’s first tooth (he seemed to enjoy it) before moving on to Randi’s now-traditional reading of Goodnight Moon (which he enjoys to a crazy degree).
I am half-watching the World Cup final as I write this, honest. But there’s a lot to catch up on, starting back in late June when Reema came over for dinner and took some inaugural bites of the magnificent chocolate fudge cake which Randi had concocted for my birthday. Since we have a strict one-in-one-out policy when it comes to cake in this house, this birthday cake had all disappeared by the weekend when Randi produced her second, all-American cake for our Independence Day NCT gathering on 4th July. (I’ll gloss over the slightly worrying questions which emanated from the kitchen during the decorating process, like “how many stars are there on the flag again?”)
[Update: Spain vs. Argentina was clearly such a gripping match that I only managed to complete a single paragraph last night! Therefore, I am officially now writing this in our post-World Cup 2026 future.]
In addition to Randi’s cake, our paddling pool was the other big hit from our NCT meetup, where it played host to three sedately splashing babies. The next day it was transformed into the central battlefield of a much darker and more warlike affair, as Kirsty and the girls visited and I was thrown into a defensive battle against two agents with water soakers. (I should have learnt from Kerensky: never arm your opponents.) That said, I was pretty pleased with my makeshift counter-offensive courtesy of the garden hose, and once everyone was properly drenched we did manage to reach some sort of uneasy peace settlement. For now.
This is surely the kind of play of which the makers of Toy Story 5 would approve. I snuck out one evening to see this with Tash at the Genesis Cinema in Whitechapel (*makes mental note of how convenient this location is*) and I think my reaction is the same as many others: it’s great fun, but at this point the series seems firmly targeted at Toy Story millenials like us rather than the younger generations. My countercultural take, however, is that while this film is formally about the intrusion of screens and technology into wholesome childhood play (although maybe don’t think too hard about how all of these plastic toys were themselves an erasure of what came before but that’s another story) its real message is about something much simpler: girls and girlhood.
Spoilers for those who haven’t seen it: eight year old Bonnie happily plays make-believe with her toys but struggles to make human friends. In an attempt to help her socialise, her parents buy her a ‘Lilypad’ tablet, complete with lots of games and social networking features. This immediately displaces all of Bonnie’s imaginative play, as instead she becomes hooked on trying to win the approval of a group of girls from dance class. They spend all their time on their own tablets, even when they’re all together, and mock Bonnie for holding on to her toys like a baby.
I’m no apologist for social media, and children all huddled around screens is almost as depressing as adults huddled around screens. But the basic story here – about wanting to fit in, seem grown-up and put away childish things – could have been told about any previous generation. One reason why many of us are so conflicted about the current technological hellscape in which we now live is that while it’s easy to be nostalgic for the shared cultural moments we’ve lost from a more monocultural era, none of us actually want to give up our tailored and personalised entertainment (our shows, our podcasts, our trusted news stories) which have now been unlocked. And the same may go for friends, too.
Indeed, as Toy Story 5 itself rather slyly points out, Bonnie is ultimately rescued from her misery because Lilypad is able to connect her to another creative, imaginative kid who lives out on a farm. Without the screens, they’d never have met. In some ways, therefore, it should be much easier now to resist the dance class clique. There will always be some group who thinks your toys are cool! In practice, I think it’s clear that things don’t really net out this way, and most of us would still be better off having more artificial constraints on an endless stream of screen-based entertainment and socialising. But 1960s or 1990s Bonnie would still have faced the same basic social dilemma, albeit perhaps not as relentlessly or invasively as via a screen which follows you everywhere.
I can’t remember if we talked about Toy Story specifically, but Sanna and I definitely ran through a wide range of parenting topics during our lovely midweek lunch during one of her rare flying visits to London! (Until next time, we’re also trying out the bizarre-but-clever Roost app to exchange messages via pigeon.) That weekend, I also had dinner with Andrew and Bonnie before the three of us saw Springwood at the Hampstead Theatre courtesy of a joint birthday gift from mum to the three of us.
This play is tightly scoped in both time and place: the visit of King George VI, and his wife Queen Elizabeth, to President FDR’s New York family home in June 1939. It’s a brief diversion from the couple’s royal tour of Canada and not a happy one, as Britain’s accidental and reluctant new King (yes, the one with the stutter from The King’s Speech) struggles under the immense burden of trying to secure Roosevelt’s support for the upcoming war. Meanwhile, his insecure Queen bristles at many perceived slights and humiliations from their hosts, and in particular at the indignity of being ‘forced’ to eat hot dogs in public at the picnic which Roosevelt has organised in their honour.
An awful lot is made of this hot dog business, but suffice to say this all really happened, and it was only during the short scene at the very end where this part of the play really clicked for me. We see the secondary characters gather together to listen to the voices of the principals offstage, and their immense relief when this silly hot dog eating photo opportunity goes off smoothly for the press. Because, of course, in an age of broadcast media these contrived ‘moments’ can have great symbolic significance, even if the effort and emotion which goes into them feels grossly disproportionate.
Until this point the play was somewhat uneven: the first half was a bit slow, but it picked up after the interval. The cast was stellar (Robert Lindsay as FDR! Jemma Redgrave as Eleanor Roosevelt!) although the accents were wildly inconsistent from sentence to sentence. I haven’t really touched on the domestic heart of the story – which is essentially the King and FDR bonding over their shared physical limitations – although the presentation of the Roosevelt’s ‘open marriage’ seems a little bit of a stretch. The pairing of a ceremonial head of state with a political master is an intriguing one, and I’d like to have seen them go further with it. Still, spoiler alert: FDR did (eventually) take the US into the Second World War and Britain was saved. All’s well that ends well.
[Update #2: All of this endless rambling has resulted in very slow blogging progress. So, I’m going to take Tash’s advice and push the publish button long before we’ve caught up to the present day. If this spirals out of control and I fall further and further behind, we can blame her!]
My last post concluded with the surprise weekend trip I organised to the Isle of Wight for Randi’s birthday, but the honest truth is that this was always a bit of a knock-off of Randi’s idea, who had already booked a surprise weekend trip to [mystery location] for my birthday. So it was that last Friday evening – after a flying pre-birthday visit from mum the night before – we arrived at Paddington for our train out of London. (Leaving from Paddington at least confirmed to me that we hadn’t both gone and booked the same destination, as hilarious as that would have been.)
For a little while it looked like trains-leaving-Paddington wasn’t actually a thing anymore (kudos to the woman sharing updates from Real Time Trains with the rest of us) but after the issues cleared we boarded our (surprisingly quiet!) carriage, cracked open the M&S cocktails, and relaxed into a weekend adventure to Moreton-in-Marsh in the Cotswolds!
I don’t think I’ve been to the Cotswolds before (not in blogging memory, at least) but I had an image of cutesey, chocolate box cottages, well-heeled high streets and satisfying country walks through pretty villages. And… yes, these preconceptions were basically all accurate, end of blog. We did think Moreton-in-Marsh suffered a little bit by allowing a car park to form in the middle of its high road, but it’s nevertheless very charming, and wherever they’re sourcing the cheddar for their cheese and ham croissants ought to be given listed status.
On Saturday we went on a big circular walk via the village of Longborough – stopping at their lovely community cafe for lunch – getting very lucky with some temperate weather rather than scorching sun. Dinner had already been booked at The Black Bear Inn. I was really looking forward to this for two reasons: (a) the food looked great, and (b) Randi and I had cracked up laughing the night before reading the owner’s responses to the odd negative review on Google Maps. (If it helps, the slogan on their blackboard was “All of our customers make us happy. Some by staying, others by leaving.”)
Dave did not seem like a man we wanted to cross, and fortunately we didn’t have to. But we did befriend the woman sitting on the table next to us, who seemed very cool, and was treating her six year old to a birthday expedition themed around some of his favourite things: crocodiles, alligators and snakes.
Bonus Feature: Old Man Shakes Fist at Nation
For obscure reasons, the next day I found myself on the Longborough Parish Council website. Their last meeting was in May, and if you skip past the elections for chair and vice-chair (approved unanimously), the approval of prior minutes (approved unanimously) and the annual accounts (approved unanimously) you’ll see tucked away under ‘Planning/Licensing’ that Workshop Luckley Farm’s planning application to convert its furniture workshop into a wedding venue has been dismissed on appeal.
Officially, this is something to do with bats in the roof. But nobody is planning to touch the bats in the roof. Indeed, the bats seem to have coped perfectly fine with a full-time furniture restoration business, so it’s a little surprising to learn that shutting that down and switching to two hour-long wedding ceremonies per week would be so much worse. Out of interest, what is the harm? Oh, the appeal doesn’t say. It doesn’t even gesture at a plausible explanation. It just states that “it cannot be concluded what [sic] the proposal would not have a significant effect on bats” and the “precautionary principle” should therefore apply.
Reader, this is not about bats. It’s about parking. You see, if you read on, you’ll learn there’s “high potential” that visitors would “use inappropriate locations” to park, “which could hinder the free flow of traffic”. And I like to imagine the low, serious tones of a high court judge when I reach the conclusion that “although the appellant considers most guests would share lifts […] this cannot be guaranteed”.
Let’s step back for a moment. What is planning actually for? On this, Longborough Parish Council is admirably open: it is there to “support the view of its parishioners”. And I have no reason to doubt what they say their parishioners want: “most people in the village like Longborough as it is”. Planning, therefore, is about saying no. We’re not planning to get married in the Luckley Farm Barn, so who cares about anyone else? Who cares about the owner of the business? Who cares about the employment of young hospitality staff? Who cares about taxi drivers? Who cares about flatlining economic growth? Who cares about how we might fund the increasing demands of healthcare, social care, defence, pensions or anything else you care to name? I’ve got a house in the Cotswolds. I’m alright, Jack.
The absurdity is that the area is still permanently represented by the Conservative Party, which always claims to be the party of free enterprise and a lighter state. A patriotic party, supporting small business and risk-taking. Conservatives are not “supposed to” believe that entrepreneurship is subject to a collective village vote. They are “supposed” to allow businesses to succeed or fail on their own merits. Of course, it’s patently obvious that this is not at all what their supports actually believe in practice. Which is a shame, because on this, they are right! I’m not arguing for a libertarian free-for-all: this isn’t a planning application for a brothel, a coal mine or a skyscraper. It’s a wedding barn, for goodness sake.
I suppose nobody will now get married under the sleeping bats of the Luckley Farm barn. If they had, it is of course totally plausible that some of their guests might have parked in the wrong place. Perhaps – just perhaps – there could have been a sign? Or a rope. Or a shuttle bus. Or a trust Parish Council volunteer issuing fines for infractions to the farm, which I suspect would have cleared up the problem pretty sharpish. All human activity brings problems, but if you see your job as trying to enable the best possible outcomes, a Parish Council operating on good faith could surely channel their time and energies into fixing real problems. Instead, we hand a small group of homeowners a veto to block anything they don’t like on spurious, pseudo-environmental grounds, and then we wonder why we can’t build a railway to Birmingham anymore. Saying “no” is not “planning”, and we need a total reset of how this works.
Setting my feelings about Longborough Parish Council aside, this was a truly wonderful birthday weekend and we returned to London on Sunday in high spirits! The week ahead was forecast to be grossly hot, as indeed it was, but fortunately I was already booked in for three days of work-related training in a gloriously air-conditioned room. (Don’t worry, the baby room at nursery is also generously cooled.) The training was a great opportunity to see colleagues in a non-Zoom setting – particularly Kira and Paulo! – and in particular I very much enjoyed drinks with Ben, Tom and Tomas on Thursday night.
For the weekend, Randi had the inspired idea of an emergency paddling pool purchase, so yesterday we spent a fair chunk of time outside in the garden. Baby-wise, we’ve now gotten some rolling, combined with a newfound ability to nap in his cot during the daytime \ a newfound ability to stick his limbs out of the cot when he doesn’t want to nap in his cot during the daytime. Oh, and lots of strawberry eating!
Over the late May bank holiday we travelled down to Exmouth for my mum’s birthday, and although we didn’t quite make it onto the beach itself, we were all very much in the market for some sunny, seaside vibes. It also turns out that my mum has been quietly hoarding many of my childhood toys, and so in true Toy Story-style, this was a great opportunity for “aeroplane” and “walker” to find another playmate in the next generation.
For the adults, we kept busy with a Sherlock Holmes themed jigsaw (admittedly only managing to finish the edges) and my mum’s nostalgic recreation of a classic “nana and grandad” Suffolk teatime. There were a few necessary anachronisms – I definitely don’t recall any red wine back in the day! – but the combination of ham, potatoes, Marmite and Rich Tea biscuits was very exciting.
Back in London, I had an excellent evening at a Leytonstone pub with Clark, including a brief guest appearance from Matt Hull. A week or so later, Randi and I were back in Leyton for a proper catch-up with Matt, Rachael and their little one, before heading over for Tash’s barbecue birthday party in their gorgeous garden. As ever, it was great to catch-up with a lot of familiar faces (hello Grace, Charlotte, Sarah, Katty, Beth, Moya and others!) but the highlight was probably the impromptu dramatic performance from the kids who live next door. There’s genuine top-notch acting talent there.
In the last few weeks we’ve also had an evening with Esther – together with the thrilling season premiere of “being able to sit out in the garden even after the sun has gone down” – and I went out with a mixture of current and former eviivo-ites including Jo, who left a few years back to retrain with the ambulance service. Having grown up on a diet of Casualty, it was interesting to hear that trauma cases are actually a relatively small proportion of callouts, although I see why “people who have been funelled to 999 by a risk-averse flow chart” would have made a less exciting show.
Talking of eviivo: it was also very lovely to see my former colleague Annie again on a visit from the States, while yesterday Randi and I made it into central London for the 2026 “beach vibes” Summer Party. We’re still at the age where our child can be passed around and held without squirming to run around independently, but clearly it’s only a matter of time! With my team having cruised to a resounding victory in the eviivo-themed quiz (excellent job, Lee), Randi and I said our goodbyes and induced some much-needed napping time by walking across London for a bit to Whitechapel. Since we don’t get much of a chance for impromptu after-work walks these days, this was genuinely wonderful, and a good reminder of what we both love most about this city.
Finally, I’ll leave you with last weekend’s surprise weekend trip to the Isle of Wight. This was a belated birthday present for Randi, but it had to fit into a reasonable radius from London, and in the end I gambled on the idea that Randi would be unusually excited by the novelty of a short ferry ride thrown into the journey. (I wasn’t wrong. In fact, we were both shocked at how seamless and well-integrated the train and ferry are together, both in terms of the physical terminals and the ability to buy a magical through ticket with a Railcard discount. It all made much more sense after reading about how it all used to be one consolidated British Rail operation in the first place.)
After reaching Ryde we journeyed down the island to our Airbnb in Bonchurch, near Ventnor, with commanding views of the sea from the top of the cliffs. My only previous visit to the Isle of Wight was on a school activity camp in Year 6, so I had no memory of how lush and verdant everything is. On Friday night I sampled the “life-changing lasagne” at the Bonchurch Inn (it’s pretty great, can confirm) while on Saturday we took advantage of a windier, drizzlier day for some rest and relaxation indoors. It may not have the most glamorous reputation, but I’d definitely come back.
We’re back! Prior to last weekend I’d only been to New York twice in my life, and both times in February. So when Randi and I were first invited to Mike and Melissa’s wedding, I was doubly excited: both to celebrate these wonderful human beings, but also to experience the city without a coat. Later, after Randi’s family had generously agreed to fly from California in order to provide childcare, Randi also had the inspired idea of contriving a bonus family road trip to New Jersey so that I could boost my state count to 32 states. So I was really looking forward to this trip for all sorts of reasons, and it didn’t disappoint.
We flew into Newark (which is technically in New Jersey anyway, but airports alone don’t count) and drove to Somerset, because this is where Beth and Stewart lived for a couple of years with baby Alex and we thought it’d be nice to go see their old house. We checked into a Residence Inn, which required both a physical credit card (“no contactless”) and – astonishingly – hard cash (!) to be exchanged into quarters (!!) if you wanted to do laundry. (And at the risk of providing too much information, while our flight with a seven month old was only marginally harder than it had been with a three month old, by that point we already had a lot of laundry to do.)
Fortunately, Beth was able to bail us out on all counts. But I would gently plead with the American hotel industry to consider a new approach. Otherwise, Randi found staying at a Residence Inn to be incredibly warm and nostalgic for bringing back childhood holiday memories. We were also proud of ourselves for jamming a toilet roll under the window in order to get some air without requiring the fan. So, overall I’m sure the staff thought we were totally mad.
Obviously it was important to find some distinctly New Jersey experiences, so on Thursday night we headed to the Somerset Diner where Beth and Stu had eaten many times when they lived here. Nothing quite beats a real American diner, from its characteristic features (the huge menu, the giant portions) to the finer details (like the placemat entirely covered in adverts for local small businesses) which just aren’t replicated elsewhere.
If I’m ever in Somerset again, I’d go back. This seems unlikely, though, as it’s not exactly a tourist magnet. Somerset itself is an “unincorporated community” located within “Franklin township”, and despite passing multiple road signs where the township boasted of being “the 5th best place to live in the USA” (at least according to Money Magazine 2008) this wasn’t quite enough to shake my preconception of New Jersey as a poorer, more industrial adjunct to its famous neighbour.
I’m very glad, therefore, that Randi did some emergency research and directed us to Washington Valley Park for a Friday morning walk through the woods. This was absolutely delightful, and a refreshing vision of life in the garden state. (Fortunately, we did not see any venomous Northern Copperheads, and therefore succeeded in giving snakes the “distance and respect” which the information board requested.)
We then enjoyed a scenic drive through Princeton, home of both the eponymous university but also the governor’s residence (“Drumthwacket“). This is a little odd because the state’s capital is two towns over in Trenton, although it’s not hard to guess why “the People’s House” is hidden away here instead. Our next stop was Lawrenceville – an excellent name – home to both an excellent sandwich shop and Rider University where Stewart studied as an undergraduate.
Our visit coincided with graduation weekend, which happens elsewhere, so the campus was quiet for our walk around the grounds. I appreciated the strict rules for getting a poster up on the noticeboard (“must be approved and stamped by the Office of Campus Life”) and rebelliously parked our buggy in the parking spot “reserved for President Loyack”, purely because there’s something about named parking spaces which makes me want to fight the system.
Also, they have a pub! At least it’s labelled as such, which was very promising, so maybe our child will want to chase his dreams here in a couple of decades’ time. If he does, all I advise is that he stays away from the creepy fraternities on the campus fringe, whose dorm buildings announce their separation from the others with pompous Greek lettering on the side, and oh goodness this is just a bit hard seriously for a glorified teenage drinking club.
Finally, we arrived in Trenton, where the rental car could be handed back and – in exchange – we were all ferried to the Trenton Transit Center to catch our train to New York’s Penn Station. While Randi and I were very grateful to be taxied around by her parents in New Jersey, we did feel a palpable sense of relief to be back on rails, especially as driving with a baby seems fundamentally flawed since you can’t pick them up if they start fussing or crying. Happily, the NJ Transit route seemed both frequent and well-used.
The view from the train thereby completed my New Jersey experience, at least for now, as we passed through stations such as Elizabeth, New Brunswick and – my favourite – Rahway. As in, there’s genuinely a railway station called Rahway Station, as though it’s just very posh.
And now… New York! On this trip we stayed entirely within Brooklyn, which feels somewhat more ‘Londony’ than Manhattan with its relative greenery and lower-rise buildings. But only somewhat. Overall, NYC’s urban infrastructure is genuinely unique within the United States. (Shout-out to the much improved subway cars on the A train we rode to the hotel!) But at the same time it’s very obvious that you’re still in an American city, just from a hundred little things, just as London may be a fellow ‘world city’ but is unambiguously still the British capital. People sometimes imply that these giant cities stand completely apart from their countries, but it’s just not true.
Good New York thing: the new subway map (rolled out last year) is so delightful and such an improvement. I’m so proud they finally did it!
Bad New York thing: their drivers feel significantly less tamed. Perhaps it was just because we were staying on the busy Flatbush Avenue, but cars overall feel significantly less tamed.
Anyway, on Friday night, Randi and I (plus baby) walked to Mike and Melissa’s welcome drinks at a nearby brewery, which also featured an incredibly delicious build-your-own-taco buffet. I definitely didn’t need any more food on the way back, but since we were walking by it seemed stupid not to pick up a classic New York pizza slice too, which I also appreciated.
I did not appreciate the suggestion from a random person on the street that if I fell out with Randi at some point in the future I should resort to murder. I’m not saying there aren’t violently minded Londoners, but perhaps they’re just less socialised to offer unsolicited advice, and I’d like to keep it that way. On the other hand, the woman at the hotel the next morning who struck up a conversation with me while I was looking for proper tea bags (not easy) was lovely, if a little pushy. (“I have a niece and nephew in college nearby.” “Are they enjoying it?” “They better be enjoying it! If they want to make a career out of it!”)
On Saturday we did some emergency wedding shopping and then headed over to Prospect Park to hang out with Phoenix and Marcos, last seen on this blog last summer during their holiday to London. Prospect Park is wonderful, and – like all of the parks we saw – was chock-a-block with families enjoying the sunshine. We had a great time catching up, and then Marcos engaged his superpower of “locate nearest food spot which everyone will enjoy” and we brunched at a tasty Italian place.
That night was the wedding itself, which took place in the garden of another Italian restaurant with even more exceptional food. Randi and I were both slightly giddy since it was our first childless night in seven months, and we found it very sweet that – since Mike and Melissa are both lawyers – they were married by a judge which Melissa used to clerk for.
Talking of lawyers: I tried to deter the lawyers sitting on our table from doubling down on their written constitution idea, but unfortunately I think that ship has sailed. Enjoyable conversations though, with an unexpected focus on post-Soviet states. But the person I was most interested in hearing from was Mike and Randi’s mutual uni friend Matt, who is an honest-to-goodness college counsellor: a role which I’ve seen in films but always struggle to imagine as a full-time job. He was lovely, though, with all the earnest idealism of a native San Franciscan who spends his time encouraging teenagers to envision a bright future ahead.
Sunday was Randi’s birthday, which we kicked off with a family walk across the magnificent Brooklyn Bridge. Afterwards, Randi and I scuttled back over to the Brooklyn side for lunch with Rachel and Ana at Miss Ada: a Mediterranean restaurant with lots of sharing plates which was a big hit with both adults and baby alike. The walk there and back took us through another busy park – Fort Greene Park – which was similarly packed out with families.
It will surprise nobody to learn that our next stop was the New York Transit Museum, which has an advantage over the London Transport Museum in that it’s housed in a real abandoned station. Not only does this give the exhibitions plenty of atmosphere, but it also allows them to dedicate the platforms to a whole slew of subway cars from different eras which kids (and non-kids) can happily run through.
There’s also an excellent shop, although I was disappointed not to find any Forest Hills-specific memorabilia which I would have been compelled to buy. I will note, for the record, that the section of the museum about payment systems has some brazen factual inaccuracies about both London and Hong Kong, and implies that New York was some kind of pioneer in contactless. This is… not correct.
After the museum we all went our separate ways, leaving the three of us to enjoy an afternoon wander along Brooklyn Bridge Park. This is a long, linear stretch of greenery by the East River, punctuated by piers, and has a surprising smell of the sea. We ate some ice creams in the sun before setting off to the airport for our overnight flight back home, although not before stopping for one final burst of New York pizza. (I’m not entirely sure why the UK didn’t welcome a generation of late nineteenth century Italian immigrants to sell pizza by the slice, but it was a serious policy error.)
We might all be a little exhausted – and varying degrees of sick – after this mad, nonstop weekend. But it was extremely nice to have a bit of the old travelling feeling back again… and, of course, to scratch off another US state from the scratch map. Still 18 more to go…
Linda Moffitt on Colombia: “Such a sweet memory of the four of you meeting up in Colombia!” Dec 2, 07:42
