During my youth, my friends and I wandered up and down the King’s Road, fascinated by the red and lime green Mohicans of the punks at The World’s End. We wandered around the smelly Kensington indoor market, rummaging through racks of vintage Levi’s and bins of vinyl. For a good coffee, it was always the brightly lit Bar Italia on Frith Street, where I tried not to look at my new freckles on the mirrored wall.
The London I grew up in was a dirty city, not as clean as it is today. And I loved it. Almost half a century later, I still do. It is a love that I hope to pass on to my son.
So far, so good. He hasn’t asked why we don’t visit more of his peers, and he seems content with the ease of our time here.
My husband works full-time, and I am self-employed, which means that all holiday childcare falls to me. At the beginning of each one, I feel a sense of dread as I look at the almost empty slate for the coming weeks and think: How on earth am I going to fill them?
Then, inevitably, they find their rhythm.
Last Easter, there were informal gatherings in our neighborhood: with other children where we live, playing football-and-seek or football in our local fields, or digging sand in the playground. Luckily, my best friend, who I met on the street and has two girls that my son likes, is usually there.
There were days my son and I headed into town, on the 24 bus from Camden – the new Routemasters layout I’d been hopping on and off for years. We were sitting upstairs, in the coveted front row seats, watching the city sweep by, my son in awe of the view of the HS2 construction site at Euston, with its yellow cables and crossings. We’ve seen Nature’s Confetti, a beautiful centerpiece of exploding cherry blossoms come to life on the Outernet. I bought some ice cream from a gelateria tucked away in Soho, and on the way home we looked at Fortnum’s bucolic Easter windows.
One day, we visited the giant Matisse-inspired snail in Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall and walked along the Thames to Borough Market for chips and custard doughnuts. After catching a riverboat to Embankment Pier, we stood on the footpath near Hungerford Bridge and watched the trains slide out of Charing Cross.
We also hired some of London’s best bakers on the hunt for hot buns – mostly for me, but my only son, amazingly, was totally on board. When he asked me to take him to the DLR, I was surprised at how excited I was to be swept down the steep tunnel, the lights still passing, on our way back to the Bank.
These outings together, for which I usually had change from £20, were special. Although perhaps not in the way the term is commonly understood today, it doesn’t feel like parents are under more pressure to provide their children with “advanced” experiences.
Contemporary London offers these in abundance, often at great prices. An immersive Paddington Bear experience or Peppa Pig Afternoon Tea Sightseeing Bus Tour will set you back around £100 for one adult and one child.
They are great for a quick snack. Even though it was the last time I took my son to the same place – Jurassic World: The Battersea Power Station Experience – it was harder to drag him and his friends away from the nearest playground afterwards than from the squirming, roaring, life-like dinosaurs.
This Easter, I haven’t planned much. We will definitely go to the car wash, where the water runs and the brush around is always there; maybe the mini railway in Brockwell Park and the Brixton food market. And the comic book shop I just saw on Berwick Street, next to a Victorian urinal – now an underground cafe – my son is dying to see.
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