Tag: united kingdom

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Trip to London

Me and Mum at Westminster, with the London Eye in view across the river behind us.

I will say, I’ve always enjoyed a little trip to London. I used to think the only exception was during periods in which my anxiety was at its most nightmarish. However, I’ve recently come a long way in my thinking about this – because to be honest, going anywhere is nightmarish when you’re feeling a bit rough and raw to the world’s busyness. I’m no longer convinced London is any different.

The number one highlight for me might seem like a boring one – but it’s always the tube. I can’t help but love every second of it. Even when it’s busy. I love the different designs of the stations, a clue as to what era they were built as you travel round. And the Elizabeth Line made getting from Heathrow Central Coach Station an absolute breeze.

Me and Mum at Tower Bridge

Mum had only really properly been to London as a little girl. Her Mum and Dad packed her and her brothers into the car and drove them down overnight – after a long day of work. They got in all the tourist hotspots, got back into the car the following evening and off they went back to Bangor. So, off we went to try and get as many of the same spots as possible. More than 50 years later.

I’ve never seen my poor Fitbit as overrun as it was last week. It quite literally couldn’t keep up with my 64-year-old Mum. She’s a retail manager, spending all day on her feet. So she regularly already beats my daily step count no matter how hard I try! Seriously, 10 miles a day is nothing to her.

Mum and I standing outside the gates to Buckingham Palace

We hit all the tourist stops. Buckingham Palace, of course. We even got in the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, and the Thames Clipper to Greenwich. Though, despite one of the reasons for our trip being to get our christmas shopping done early, most of the things we’d bought we were so excited to give to each other or Rob, that they didn’t make it under the tree. But there we are.

On a side note, we both had the same thing to say about how much bigger Buckinham Palace seems on TV (and in memory). And don’t get me started on Harrods. If you’re looking for a stress free luxury browse, Harvey Nicholls is a much more bearable time. We walked from Buckingham Palace, through Knightsbridge, taking in all the obscene wealth and luxury consumerism (and cosmetic clinics), on the hunt for a Harrods bauble. We left the very crammed department store with some coffee for my Dad, and vegan hot chocolate for Rob, no bauble. We quickly made our way as far as we could get before going for lunch.

I also introduced my Mum to Leon (the fast-food chain, not a person). I know there is absolutely nothing special about the place, but anywhere that serves coffees and lentil dahl rice boxes alongside turkey and stuffing wraps clearly deserves to be in every town across the nation. Make it happen please; Cardiff needs a Leon. I need those waffle fries as often as possible. Though, while you’re listening Mr Leon, where are those vegan nuggets? Bring them back ASAP!

One of my favourite stops was the Tate Modern. I’ve been twice now in about a month – but that’s because it’s one of the best free things you can do in London. Even ticketed exhibitions are quite reasonable. Especially for the expansiveness of what you get for your money. On a relaxed day, there’s nothing more fun than trotting around at your own leisure, taking everything in. It must surely also have the best gift shop in the UK?

We took our first day quite easy, as it was already unplanned. We were supposed to be travelling down from Cardiff the following day but the flooding on the line from North to South Wales was so bad that train services weren’t running – and we had no idea when they would be. However, getting from North Wales to London is actually quicker anyway, so some last-minute rejigging of Mum’s ticket was carried over the phone on Sunday night, and off we were the following morning.

There was a lot of coffee stops – and many slices of cake. Though horrifyingly, just a week later, the only one that still sticks in my mind was the chocolate fudge cake from John Lewis. Seriously? All that way for John Lewis cake? We also made an error that should be unheard of on any Christmas trip… not a single mince pie was consumed.

I’ve curated all of my favourite little moments from the trip below.

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Walking to town (to go to W.H Smith)

I’ve written quite a bit about moving from a small town to the city, and all the benefits that come along with 24-hour supermarkets, and ordering warm cookie dough at 2am. But while I was on my afternoon stroll today, I couldn’t help but think about the benefits of a small-town childhood. Namely, appreciating the most basic of retail outlets.



I should make it clear, when I say small town, I’m referring to the relatively small town centre. The reality is that Colwyn Bay has a modest population of 34,000. A fact that is all the more jarring when compared to Llandudno – dinging in at only 20,000. Especially when you take into account how vast Llandudno’s seafront is and how great it is for shopping.

What struck me the most when I got to reminiscing, was how, despite the relatively limited retail outlets, what we had was within such short walking distance. Obviously this comes partly down to the fact that my parents bought a house in such a central location. But also to how small towns are organised. Everything, no matter how limited, is usually within a relatively short distance of one another. And what Colwyn Bay had (and mostly still has) is a theatre, a supermarket, a fabulously rundown W.H. Smith’s (that I miss dearly) and a handful of pubs, cafes and market stalls that pepper the high street. It even had the smallest branch of New Look you’ll have ever seen (and how I worked that tiled floor in my faux Docs, and my even faux-er clip in extensions).

Right, where was I? Oh, yes! I would like to mount a passionate defense of W.H. Smith. Sure, some branches might not be able to compete with the range of choices available somewhere like Waterstones, or have the same level of customer care as an independent book shop. But what they did have were the very brand of soapy, commercial novels that instilled my love of reading.

Where else does an 18 year-old small town queer flock to for menthol fags and a Marian Keyes paperback? How about the endless hardback notebooks, waiting to be filled with what I did in work that day and what boy off Grindr cancelled a date to get his hair braided (yes, that happened)? W.H. Smith! And where else would one of my straight male best friends go to purchase the naked issue of Gay Times for my 16th birthday (yes, that also happened!).

So, let’s cut the shop some slack. The little one’s in train stations and airports are even quite nice (sometimes). I can spend anywhere upwards of 25 minutes going round-and-round the tiny aisles, filling my arms with bottles of water, cans of Coke Zero, awful falafel wraps, and a trashy mag for good measure. The one in Cardiff Central even has a fabulous little Costa counter, where for an extortionate amount of money, you can walk away with two packets of Percy Pigs and a very milky Oat Latte. What is not to love?!

In a world of increasing choice, and a decreasing high street, I feel exceptionally well-placed to avoid the burnout that comes with too much choice. And absolutely inoculated against the disappointment of a dwindling number of brick-and-mortar shops. Because as long as there’s a clapped-out old Smiths, everything will be alright.