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The day of false starts and overpriced mediocrity

We were violently catapulted into consciousness this morning courtesy of the hotel fire alarm. Apparently there is an official fire alarm test scheduled at midday. So yes — we had the “pre-test” BEFORE the test. Was it necessary to test the test? Apparently in London… yes.

So we were up far earlier than planned, and treated ourselves to what I can only describe as a fairly Shard-full breakfast. Not quite skyscraper quality… but structurally nutritious.

Objective of the morning: reach Battersea Power Station. The once mighty industrial cathedral is now reborn as… a shopping mall. Welcome to London 2025.

Lunch booked at Gordon Ramsay’s Bread Street with my sister-in-law. Two tube changes required, so plenty of time to explore. First impression upon arrival: somebody has obviously decided that what this landmark needed… was a small city of luxury flats completely wedged around it so you can barely SEE the power station anymore. Urban planning at its finest.

Inside the two huge former turbine halls: totally modern, uniformly Christmassy — and wildly premature for my taste. November. We need at least 3 more weeks before Mariah Carey is legally allowed to be activated.

North exit: and finally a river view where the building actually exists visually. Success.

Aperitif. Because life.

Lunch arrives later… and well… let’s say Gordon Ramsay won’t be putting this one in his Michelin highlight reel. Expensive + mediocre. I shall indeed write to Mr Ramsay. Constructively. Possibly in all caps.

Afternoon mission: go up The Shard. Closed.

Backup plan: Jewel Museum. Also closed.

So — we wandered the South Bank instead. All the way to St Paul’s, where my knees once again reminded me that they gave a clear request this morning: rest. Today: 11.7 km. So no. They did not get what they requested.

Back to the hotel — only to discover: room not made. New room issued. Four floors up. Short nap. Brutally too short.

Evening: Piccadilly Line returned to service and delivered us to The Prince of Wales Theatre — The Book of Mormon. Amusing yes. Hilarious… not quite as advertised.

After the show we strolled Regent Street — glamorous, dazzling, fully London Christmas 360°.

Oxford Street on the other hand… absolutely confirms that it has slid downmarket. The lights even looked cheaper this year.

Finally the Victoria line home — which felt refreshingly exotic after our non-stop Piccadilly maritime service of this entire trip.

Feet up. No nightcaps. I am writing this in horizontal collapse mode.

Tomorrow: either The Shard finally opens… or we surrender ourselves to the British Museum.

Let destiny decide…

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