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September 29, 2025 – I’ve written a lot lately about preparing for my last-August 134-mile hike on the Canterbury Trail. More recently I covered my last day in London, after finishing and before flying home. (The technique “starting with the ending and mapping out your screenplay in reverse… This approach ensures your script is tightly focused, structurally sound, and steers clear of plot holes or unresolved threads.”) Then came my first day in London, August 6.

That post talked about the days before meeting up with my hiking companion and taking the train down to Winchester. That first-day post talked about flying into Heathrow airport, then getting to my hotel, the Chelsea Guest House. (After hiking with full pack the four miles down from Paddington Station.) From there I explored the area around Wandsworth and Queenstown Roads. That led me to find The Nott, an unpretentious neighborhood pub “tucked opposite Nine Elms Underground.” There, over the next few days, I went back often enough to “develop a nodding acquaintance with several ‘laid-back locals nursing pints.’ That gave me a warm feeling of home.” This post will tell what else I did during the few days after that.

On Thursday, August 7, I hiked over to the Wandsworth Road Overground Station. (Something I’d never heard of.) Unlike the usual underground Tube, the Overground was more of an above-ground monorail. And provided a great view of southeast London, past Brixton, Peckham and across the Thames. From Wapping Station a seven-minute walk up the Thames Path got me to Prospect of Whitby, an “historic public house on the northern bank of the River Thames.” In the East End, it “lays claim to being on the site of the oldest riverside tavern, dating from around 1520.” For lunch there I had a “Great British Cheese Toastie;” melted cheddar with a “béchamel sauce, in sourdough served with a rocket & pickled red onion side salad and HP brown sauce.”

That was the cheapest thing on the menu, very messy but quite filling. I enjoyed it on the second-floor deck, out where it gave a great sun-lit view of busy Thames boat traffic, and happily sipped my pint of Estrella while trying not to get drippy-melted cheddar all over. (The place was justifiably “highly recommended” by a friend back home.) I scribbled in my pocket notebook that a “Catch as Catch Can” afternoon would follow, as indeed it did.

I took the Number 15 bus intending to go back to Trafalgar Square, but on the way I saw a sign for the Royal Courts of Justice, “on the Strand within the City of Westminster.” As a retired public defender I found it fascinating, “but no photos allowed.” Interesting to me but boring to you, so after that I hiked down the Strand and through the Essex Court Chambers, a “set of barristers’ chambers, specialising in commercial and financial litigation, arbitration, public law and public international law.” I remembered the Strand from Don McLean’s Mountains of Mourne:

You remember young Denny McClaren, of course
But he’s over here working with the rest of the force
I saw him one day as he stood on The Strand
And he stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand…

After hiking down The Strand I headed over to the Thames Path, then west to Waterloo Bridge. Once across the river I took the 77 bus from Waterloo Station down to Nine Elms. Heading home I stopped at The Nott for a pint and nodded to a now-familiar local or two.

Then came Friday morning, August 8. The first thing I did was move from Chelsea Guest House to the Premier Inn, “638-640 Wandsworth Road, Clapham.” That happened because back home I booked two nights at the Chelsea instead of the three nights I needed. (A foul-up at the “click on dates.”) But it turned out to be a great move. For one thing, unlike Chelsea Guest House, the bathroom had a toilet. (Which came in handy.) And it had a great dining area that included a Happy Hour from 5:00 to 7:00, two beers for nine GBP. (A great price in London.) Plus it was catty-corner from the apartment Tom rented for August 9 and 10, at 7a Lavender Hill. (Next to the Caffe Nero I spent time at and across the intersection from Sainsbury’s Local market.)

Later that day I ended up at The Clarence Whitehall, “An elegant and indeed damn fine traditional British pub with a historic charm. The Clarence embodies all that’s great about British hospitality.” I’d agree with that, or as I wrote in my notebook after finding the place:

Oy vey! A sea of tranquility after going through mobs of flocking tourists. Which is being interpreted… I took the 77 bus up from Wandsworth Road, got off and hiked across Lambeth Bridge and up to Parliament, and the first of the flocking mobs. Crossed into Parliament Square by Westminster Abbey, more mobs, wangled up and over to the back of #10 Downing Street, well guarded, through the gate to where two Horse Guards sat mounted, surrounded by more flocking mobs… And out onto Whitehall. And found Clarence’s pub. From here a hop, skip and jump to Trafalgar Square and more tranquility. The National Gallery or National Portrait Gallery, but for now, back to my London Original and tomato basil soup.

To explain: I took the bus up to Waterloo Station, then crossed Lambeth Bridge to Parliament. “Very disappointing. Closed down and too many dang tourists.” The whole complex was surrounded by chain link fence. From there I hiked past Westminster Abbey; same story, packed with tourists. I headed up to the Churchill War Rooms on Horse Guards Road, then saw on my phone that it cost 33 GBP, so “Hell no!” From there to the big open parade ground that backs onto 10 Downing Street and up past the Household Cavalry Museum, also packed. From there through the gate with two stone-faced Horse Guards – “surrounded by more flocking mobs” – and finally finding that island of tranquility inside The Clarence.

In plain words, London is not a great place to visit in August. It’s too filled with all those “flocking tourists.” (It was much better in May when I did a two-week pre-hike reconnaissance.) One place I remembered fondly from last May was the National Portrait Gallery, so I went back there to calm my nerves. But first I wandered around Piccadilly Circus and saw the Lord Shaftsbury statue, then took pictures of the giant horse statues at the Hard Rock Cafe at the corner of Coventry Street and Haymarker, between the two entrances. Then visited the NPG.

After mellowing out at the National Portrait Gallery – back up past The Strand and across Trafalgar Square – I headed back on the #87 bus to “The Chase (Stop H),” a two minute walk to my Premier Inn. Tomorrow, Saturday August 9, I’d meet up with Tom and settle into the apartment across the intersection with Queenstown Road, where Wandsworth Road magically becomes Lavender Hill. But I’d worked up a thirst, and there lay a problem.

I was now a good half-hour walk from The Nott, much farther away than from Chelsea Guest House. But I’d done my research and seen that a mere 10-minute, half-mile walk up Queenstown Road stood The Victoria Battersea. (A “traditional British pub that has been serving the local community for decades. Known for its warm and inviting atmosphere, it offers patrons a blend of classic pub charm and modern amenities.”) So I decided to check it out.

My verdict? “Trendier, more young people, including lots of ladies, but the beer is more expensive. 7-something compared to 4.90 at The Nott. (Also vegan friendly.) The Nott is more of a true local working-man’s bar, but now farther away.” I noted that I could have ridden there on the bus in 13 minutes for 1.75 GBP, “but there goes your savings on beer.”

Ah, the travails of exploring exotic places and reporting your findings back home. Meanwhile, I was a mere three days from starting that arduous 134-mile hike from Winchester to Canterbury, carrying all my worldly goods in a 16-pound pack weighing heavily on my back.

But also looking ahead to finding more English pubs to review.

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The upper image is courtesy of Prospect Of Whitby Pub – Image Results. The Page caption: “‘The Prospect of Whitby #1’ is a photograph by Raymond Hill which was uploaded on April 22nd, 2021.”

Re: Mountains of Mourne. I edited the lyrics as I remembered from my Don McLean CD, including capitalizing “strand.”

Re: Thames Path, “a long distance walking trail, following England’s best known river for 185.2miles (298 km) as it meanders from its source in the Cotswolds through several rural counties and on into the heart of London. On its way the Trail passes peaceful water meadows rich in wildlife, historic towns and cities and many lovely villages, finishing in Woolwich just a few miles from the sea.” National Trails. (Woolwich is a market town in southeast London, “within the Royal Borough of Greenwich.”) So far I’ve only hiked some of the London sections, but that could change in the future.

The official name for my August 8 lodging was London Clapham hotel – Premier Inn.

The lower image is courtesy of The Victoria Battersea, 166 Queenstown Road – Image Results. See also The Victoria Battersea – Pub in London. THE VICTORIA, London – 166 Queenstown Rd, Battersea adds:

The Victoria in Battersea has remained true to its origins: a community-centered local. The best of real ales and beers, an extensive wine list, cocktails and spirits are complemented by some truly excellent food. We have a large sports following as we have three screens and televise a wide range of sports. On the sporting note we have a games room with a Table Tennis table & Pool table.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

September 19, 2025 – The last post talked about my last day in London, on August 30. This post will talk about my first day in London, last August 6. (And there were similarities.) Future posts will cover the days I spent exploring the town, then meeting up with my hiking partner, and from there taking a train to Winchester to begin the 134-mile hike on the Canterbury Trail.

And by the way, that’s a well-known screenwriting technique, “starting with the ending and mapping out your screenplay in reverse… This approach ensures your script is tightly focused, structurally sound, and steers clear of plot holes or unresolved threads.”

So: My flight got to Heathrow at 6:30 the morning of August 6. From there I took the Elizabeth Line to Paddington Station. (As it turned out, just a four-minute walk from the Days Inn Hyde Park where I spent my last night in London.) From Paddington I had a choice, just like on that last day in London. Check-in wasn’t until 2:00, which meant seven hours to kill before I could rest my weary jet-lagged head. So, “Do I take the Tube, ride a bus or just hike down?“

As it turned out, before leaving home I couldn’t find a direct bus or Tube route down to Wandsworth Road and the room I’d booked at Chelsea Guest House. (For reasons that should be obvious in a bit.) The guest house was a bit over four miles southeast, across the Thames and on the other side of the Battersea Power Station. (Also, I’d booked the room for two nights at “Chelsea” instead of the three nights I needed, but I’ll cover that later.)

I figured, “Four miles isn’t much, and I’ve certainly got enough time.” So off I went, carrying that 16-pound pack holding all my worldly goods for the remaining three-plus weeks of August.

I headed down The Serpentine, the same park I’d hiked through back on May 8, but on the east side. And found out that east side was blocked with heavy bush-and-brush, so you couldn’t see the lake. So I crossed the Serpentine Bridge to the other side and stopped for coffee and a bite at the Serpentine Lido Cafe, roughly a mile south of Paddington. (And I had time.) That left 3.3 miles, but things continued well as I crossed the Chelsea Bridge over the Thames.

If you check Google Maps you’ll see that after I crossed the Chelsea Bridge I should have turned left on Prince of Wales Road, then right on Stewart’s Road. But remember too that I depend on local pubs for wifi, and there weren’t any around. Also that my memory of Google Maps sometimes fails, like that time in Lyon (France, 2024), when the train from Paris got to Lyon-Part-Dieu first, instead of “Part Une?” In other words I seem to have acquired John Steinbeck’s ability to get lost but not mind too much, knowing that things will eventually work out. “I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found.” (Also, you don’t take a trip, a trip takes you.)

Back to Google Maps on the hike down to and through the area around Battersea Power Station. You can also see there’s a slew of railroad tracks in the area, going off in all directions. And since the powers that be don’t like people walking across those tracks – and getting killed – that meant lots of dead-ends. (Several of which I found and had to back-track from.)

As I found out later it shouldn’t have been that hard, but I’d already hiked three miles from Paddington, plus I was tired from getting no sleep on the red-eye flight over, so I despaired of ever making my way through that labyrinth-maze of going-all-directions-and-blocking-my-way railroad tracks. But in the fullness of time I stumbled on past the Queenstown Road train station and found my way to Silverthorne Road. From there I headed down to Wandsworth Road, where I checked street numbers, then headed east. And still got there way before check-in.

I tried the front door but it didn’t give, and it was well before 2:00. Fortunately there was a McDonald’s right next door. I went there and got some cheap lunch, but unfortunately they didn’t have Wifi. Still, I eventually got in, got checked in, and went through a labyrinth of closed doors inside the Chelsea to get to my room on the second floor. (What they call the first floor in England.) It was nice enough, roomy and airy, however...

However, while the room had a bathroom with shower here was no toilet in the bathroom. There was a shared toilet-and-sink room, but to get to it you had to go through another two sets of doors. It was inconvenient but hardly earth-shattering, plus I was tired and jet-lagged. So I took a nap and later that afternoon checked out the area.

I hiked east on Wandsworth and found the Nine Elms tube station, for possible future reference. Also on the way I passed the Wandsworth Road Overground Station, something I’d never seen or heard anything about. (It seems London Tube-trains run underground like a subway, while Overground tracks run above-ground, like a monorail.) I was so intrigued by the idea that I wrote this in my journal the next day, August 7: “Took the Overhead Line [sic] from Wandsworth to Wapping Station. Then this pub, highly recommended, with views of the Thames. Lunch and a pint, then who knows. A ‘catch as catch can’ afternoon.” But that’s a story for next time, which will include that highly-recommended visit to the Prospect of Whitby pub across the Thames.

Back to late afternoon August 6. Another thing I found on Wandsworth Road, The Nott:

Descending the few steps into this unpretentious pub tucked opposite Nine Elms Underground, one might feel transported to a quintessential British establishment with its worn wooden floors and beer-stained, timeworn charm … enhanced by a community atmosphere of laid-back locals nursing pints alongside a gregarious Irish gentleman who suavely orchestrates the steady hum of hospitality from behind the bar.

Over the next few days I returned to The Nott often enough to develop a nodding acquaintance with several “laid-back locals nursing pints.” That gave me a warm feeling of home…

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The upper image is courtesy of London Battersea Power Station – Image Results.

Re: Screenwriting technique. See Working Backwards in Screenwriting: What It Means and How.

“That time in Lyon?” See More “gang aft aglay” – and luxury in Lyon! And the correct name of “Lyon Part Une” is Lyon-Perrache, the one I expected to reach first.

On Steinbeck, see Travels with Charley Quotes by John Steinbeck – Goodreads. Also, re: Steinbeck on trips. The actual quote is “people don’t take trips. Trips take people.” John Steinbeck – Travel Quote of the Week – Authentic Traveling. As for using the quote repeatedly, you could cut and past “steinbeck trip takes you” in the search engine above right.

The link Monorail Society – What is a Monorail notes that people “often make the assumption that any elevated rail or people-mover is a monorail. This leads to issues attributable to other types of transit systems being attributed to monorails.” Thus the more precise definition: “A single rail serving as a track for passenger or freight vehicles. In most cases rail is elevated, but monorails can also run at grade, below grade or in subway tunnels.”

The lower image is courtesy of The Nott, London, Stockwell – clubs review. (Where the quote came from.) See also The Nott | Trip.com Greater London. And from The Nott – Opening Times, Contacts – Pub in London: “The Nott is a community hub located on busy Wandsworth Road in SW8, just a few minutes’ walk from the Nine Elms tube station… In addition to its main bar area, there is a raised section with pool tables and dart boards for added entertainment value.” The exterior image at left – showing its “timeworn charm” – is courtesy of The Nott Wandsworth Road London Image – Image Results.

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 73-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

Imagine a Saturday night in London. Your last before taking the train to Heathrow next morning. Ending your last full day in England since flying over from Atlanta four weeks before. And what will you tell friends and family about this exciting last night in an exotic across the pond World Capital? To be honest, you’re standing in dreary drizzle, between Paddington and a McDonald’s just across Praed Street. Eating a chicken wrap combo, your cheapest meal in weeks. With fries and Diet Coke perched on one of the three-foot high flat-topped light posts just outside the train-station entrance. But the SJK Hydrotek Rain Jacket keeps you fairly dry.

And you’re remembering. And the memories are mostly good, in hindsight…

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I went through that just over a week ago. (Writing this on September 9, 2025.) My last London evening ended a full and busy last day, August 30. Next day, Sunday, I flew back home. Home from hiking 134 miles in 16 days, from Winchester to Canterbury, the Pilgrims’ Way.

And now it’s time to get back up to speed. Like starting last March I’ve done posts on what I expected to find, including three previews starting on July 21. This post will start telling what really happened. But first, I’m happy to report that my brother, his wife and I finished the trek on Wednesday, August 27. (I took the picture above next day, August 28, after some late-afternoon settling in, showering, a celebratory beer or two – and later doing two days’ laundry.)

I’ll talk more about that in a future post, but back to my last full day in London.

It started early. That Friday night Tom, Carol and I saw the Tina Turner Musical at Aldwych. (As did tons of others, judging from long, shuffling lines at Piccadilly tube station.) Next morning Tom and Carol caught a very early train, down to Paris and Hendaye via the Euro Tunnel. I managed to get a bit more sleep, after 5:30, then – after breakfast at a nearby coffee shop – did a preliminary non-pack hike down Euston Road. (I wanted to make sure I didn’t get lost, like that time in Lyon, France, in 2023 when the train from Paris arrived at Lyon-Part-Dieu first, instead of Lyon “Part Un.” That totally screwed up my careful pre-planned Google paper-mapping.)

Later Saturday morning, at 10:45, I checked out of our California – Kings Cross Hotel.

I’d booked a room for that night at Days Inn Hyde Park, Sussex Park, mostly because it was a four-minute walk from Paddington Station. Check-out time at the California was 11:00, but check-in time at the Day’s Inn was 2:00 p.m. Which raised the question, Should I take a bus, using my Oyster card, or should I walk? Google Maps said the Day’s Inn was two and a half miles southwest, mostly along Euston Road, but then there were some twists and turns.

In the end I walked the whole way. For one thing I had three hours and it was a beautiful, cool near-fall day. For another I had just enough on my Oyster card to get to the airport.

So I walked, and on that hike – with 16-pound pack – I saw something new, dozens of homeless tents on Euston Road. It’s apparently been an ongoing problem, but something I’d never seen before, either the month in August or the earlier two-week visit in May. (Then too in May I was staying in the Canary Wharf section of town.)

From there, down past Regent’s Place, through Park Crescent Garden, the Royal Academy of Music and St Marylebone Parish Church. (Pronounced “Mar-leh-bone.”) Just down from St. Marylebone, just short of Baker Street I came across a statue of Sherlock Holmes. I stopped to take some pictures and since I’d stopped, I had a donut and coffee at the Bagel Factory Baker Street. I’d read there was a Sherlock Holmes museum at 221B, but also that it cost 20 GBP for what reviews said could be covered in 20 minutes. I went up to check and saw what looked like a very touristy museum, then said. “Nah!”

From there I hiked on to what the signs said was Old Marylebone Road, and finally to just past Westminster Magistrate’s Court, where I stumbled on to Sussex Gardens, a street in London also known as the A501. Walking southwest down the sun-dappled Sussex Gardens you see what could be called “Hotel Row.” On each side – separated by a park-like tree-lined median – you see what were once swanky private residences now turned into swanky-on-the-outside hotels. From where Old Marylebone Road magically turns into Sussex Gardens (street), I passed Haven Hotel, London Hotel, Pavilion Hotel, Prime Inn, the Normandie Hotel, not to mention the Wilson House – Imperial College London. Then, finally, it appeared, Day’s Inn Hyde Park.

I got there right about noon, but when I checked the door it was locked. (Check-in not until 2:00?) With hours to kill I went down and turned right on London Street. (Might as well check out Paddington Station, where I’d go in the morning to get to Heathrow.) On the way I found the (Charles) Dickens Tavern,  “25 London Street, Tyburnia, London.”

What to do, what to do?

I ended up lunching “at the Dickens.” Behind the bar, a young Johnny Depp lookalike, but with more piercings, rings and tattoos. With a rakish Van Dyke goatee and all topped with a multi-colored and striped do-rag. Across the bar, he looked up and said, “Nice hat.” Then pointed to one of many tattoos on his right forearm, “LA.” (I’ve been a Dodger fan since 1962.) Having bridged the cultural gap I ordered a pint of Estrella, then sat at a nearby table and pondered the menu. A chicken BLT was the cheapest item on the menu – about 10 GBP – and with that, another pint of Estrella and catching up on my Facebook notes* – 2:00 p.m. rolled around quick. I slid on my pack, walked around the corner and checked in, got a bit settled and took a nap.

About mid-afternoon I awoke, refreshed, then went back to the Dickens for one more pint. I figured I deserved it. “Johnny” was gone but I ordered another pint and settled in the back room. (At lunch the place was empty but by now it was packed, mostly with people watching soccer on the TVs.) I relaxed, fiddling with my phone and watching a little soccer when my LA-tattoo buddy came out a the store room. He stopped, smirked a bit and we bumped fists.

That’s the reason for these pilgrim hikes, to cross international boundaries and mingle with the locals – not hang around with a bunch of all-samey-same American turistas.

That was pretty much the highlight of the afternoon. (That and the well-earned beer.) I went back to my room, made preparations for leaving early next morning and dozed a bit. Toward evening I figured I’d better get some food in me, but didn’t want to pay the equivalent of 13 American dollars. And I’d had enough beer, thank you very much. “Admirable Self-Denial!”

And that’s how I ended up spending my last evening in London, in a dreary drizzle, chomping on a McDonald’s chicken-wrap combo, just across Praed Street near Paddington station, and remembering. And the memories this night were mostly good, in hindsight…

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But enough about my last full day London. I’ll write more later about the pilgrim hike – as I have been wont to do for past Caminos. (Which I define: At the end of each day you look forward to a hot shower, warm bed and a cold beer.) For now I’ll end with one creepy tidbit we came across. It involved our visit to St. James’s Church in Shere on August 17. Here’s what I wrote later that day about the “hole in the wall” we found inside, as explained by a local lady:

It seems one Christine Carpenter wanted to be an Anchorite, dedicating her life to Jesus, by staying in this cubby hole in the wall of the church. The clover-shaped thing on the left was where she could receive communion. The other is where she could watch the church service. Then she changed her mind, but The People wouldn’t let her out. The church lady who related the story said nobody knows whatever happened to poor Christine, who wasn’t allowed to change her mind after that…

Which definitely piqued my interest. I checked Wikipedia, which said that by initially leaving her cell Christina violated her Anchorite vows and so was in danger of excommunication by the Pope. She changed her mind again, but to make sure she didn’t change a third time, when she went back into the cell her doorway was walled up. (See an image in the Notes.)

That church visit creeped me out – think Cask of Amontillado – but made me appreciate. Which I suppose is a benefit of walking hour after hour, mile after mile on a long pilgrim hike. For one thing you get a new appreciation for the freedoms and options back home.

One thing for sure. Leaving Christina’s walled-in Anchorite cell at St. James’s in Shere, I reveled in my rediscovered freedom to “walk free and own no superior.”

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The upper image is courtesy of… Myself. I took the picture the morning after we trudged into Canterbury from Chilham. (See Towns & Villages in Canterbury – Visit South East England, on the town where we spent out last night on the Trail: “Renowned for its beauty and charm, the Kentish village of Chilham lies high above the valley of the River Stour in the picturesque Kent Downs.”

Links to past posts on the trip, including a preview visit last May. Starting last March, Next up – Hiking the Canterbury Trail, then A mid-May “Recon,” “London, Liverpool and Stratford,” A return, to “London, Liverpool and Stratford,” From Stratford-on-Avon to Byng Street in London, From “Fat Henry” to Gipsy Moth pub, and From (a) Bath to “The Gun.” After that came the first two-of-three preview posts for the hike: A Canterbury hike preview, and A second (of three) Canterbury previews.

We reached Canterbury on Wednesday the 27th, then on Thursday, August 28 toured the Cathedral – free – after getting our final stamp. In my case, Canterbury was the last of 18 stamps in my book, starting with Winchester Cathedral on August 11.

Re: “That time in Lyon.” See the full story at More “gang aft aglay” – and luxury in Lyon! BTW, the official name of “Lyon Part Un” – or One – is Gare de Lyon-Perrache.

Re: Do rags. See The ‘Do-Rag’, its story – African American Registry, along with Durag – Wikipedia:

Durags may be worn to accelerate the development of long curly/kinky hair, waves or locks in the hair;^[2] to maintain natural oils in hair (similar to a bonnet); to stop hair breakage; to manage hair in general; or to keep hair, wave patterns and braids from shifting while sleeping. Durags are also worn as an identity-making fashion choice,

Little of which I knew before writing this post…

Re: “At the Dickens.” Not to be confused with What The Dickens, with Dickens a euphemism for the word devil. Such euphemisms that avoid mentioning God or the devil – to avoid bad luck – are known as minced-oaths. Shakespeare used the phrase in Merry Wives of Windsor, 1600: “I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of.” Meaning & Origin Of The Phrase – Phrasefinder.

Re: Estrella Damm – Wikipedia. A Spanish beer I acquired a taste for on the Camino Frances in 2017.

“Admirable self-denial” is what General George McClellan said in a letter to his wife after being offered command of all Union armies during the Civil War: “I almost think that were I to win some small success now, I could become Dictator, or anything else that might please me–but nothing of that kind would please me – therefore I won’t be Dictator.” See The Civil War Months.

Something else I didn’t know: Aside from being a Spanish word for tourist, “turista” can refer to the “diarrhea as suffered by travelers when visiting certain foreign countries.” Turista: meaning and origin – word histories.

BTW: I was standing outside, near the Paddington station entrance, because the McDonald’s on Praed Street was take-out only. But as it turned out I enjoyed the peace and quiet outside, and it wasn’t drizzling that hard.

The term “wont” is defined as an adjective meaning “accustomed or used to doing something, or a noun meaning a habit or custom. It can also be a verb meaning to accustom or to be accustomed.” (And not to be confused with “want” or “won’t.”) It can also mean a manner or action habitually employed by or associated with someone, as in phrases like “as is my wont,” or “as is his wont.” Definition of wont by The Free Dictionary.

The full link Walt Whitman: ‘Freedom – to walk free and own no superior discussed the two perspectives on freedom, external and internal.

The external perspective perceives freedom as the absence of external control or domination. It revolves around the idea of breaking free from societal norms, oppressive systems, and the constraints imposed by others. This concept aligns closely with Whitman’s quote, as seeking emancipation from any superior implies rejecting external influences. On the other hand, the internal perspective on freedom focuses on breaking free from the mental constructs and limitations that restrict personal growth. It involves self-reflection, introspection, and a journey towards self-discovery. (Emphasis added.)

Here’s a photo of outside of St. James, Shere, courtesy of Cell of the Anchoress of Shere – Atlas Obscura. It shows where poor Christina got herself walled in, after she “broke out of the anchorage after almost three years and attempted to rejoin society.” See also – aside from Wikipedia – Secret Surrey: The woman who chose to spend her life in a cell, The Anchoress of Shere, Christine Carpenter – Shere Delight, Cell of the Anchoress of Shere – Atlas Obscura, or Christine Carpenter – Surrey Cultural Lives. For more on Anchorites see Wikipedia: Such people were required “to take a vow of stability of place, opting for permanent enclosure in cells often attached to churches. Also unlike hermits, anchorites were subject to a religious rite of consecration that closely resembled the funeral rite.”

The lower image is courtesy of Dickens Tavern Paddington – Image Results. For more see Dickens Tavern Pub Restaurant in Paddington – Greene King, and Great pub in paddington, near the station.

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 73-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Some final notes, for possible use in a future post on the night before the last day in London: “Last night’s show ‘Tina,’ on Drury Lane [sic], was great. Very intense, good music (including ‘Shake your tail feathers’ from the Blues Brothers movie; in the original, ‘Shake your money maker.'”) And quite the musical comeback” – for Tina, after leaving Ike. Also: “An earlier adventure, yesterday [Friday] afternoon coming out of St. Pancras train station, this guy – dead to the world, but not dead. Though it did take the security guys at least 15 minutes to get him to respond.” And finally, at one point I wrote: “Back on the Trail a guy from Canterbury Cathedral said pubs were closing at the rate of five pubs a week. Seems hard to believe but ‘Hey, I’m doing my part!'” (To save some of them anyway.)