Anyone for a cuppa?

This is a horrendous cliche, but there's something that's so perfectly British about tea. It elicits fine bone china teapots, teacups and saucers, with delicately fragrant liquid, a dainty little milk jug, a fantastically decorated sugar spoon, a carefully laid out tea table in someone's house on a quiet Sunday afternoon. And, of course, polite conversation. Asking after one's family, one's work, one's health. But never dipping below the surface to discuss and debate the more intense subjects that make up a social minefield laden with potential faux pas.

There are, however, other teas and tea pots out there that lend themselves to more philosophical conversation and ways of living. The Tea House in Covent Garden is a little shrine to tea as a ritual, a concept that has a rich history in Japan. I'm a little ashamed (although not really) to admit I get a tad excited by a tea pot I bought a few years back, supported by an eccentric collection of loose leaf teas, and a few Japanese teacups. They beautifully lend themselves to creating your own little bubble of zen, sitting or lounging, sipping and pouring, and serenely discussing life, the universe and everything.

Coffee, on the other hand, has a more fiery past. London itself has its own history of the coffee house, where people would go to debate politics, ideologies, science, history, religion with friends and with strangers. There are even those that suggest that the Age of Enlightenment was fuelled by coffee and these coffee houses. This is also a scene that you see around (the more liberal) Middle-Eastern/Mediterranean countries, or the MidMed as my flatmate has labelled this cultural crossover; people sitting around in coffee houses or dropping in on each other unannounced, hands gesturing wildly with passion as politics and other topics of extreme opinion are heatedly debated over a hastily put together table heavy with coffee, juice, fruit and nuts.

I love this combination of MidMed/coffee house culture. I've already written about Foyles Cafe, and described one of the unexpected conversations I've had there as an example. Going to a coffee shop not to "grab" a coffee (a turn of phrase that appears to be rife in the busy city) but to sit there with a drink and either work, read or talk is a brilliant way of getting some headspace. I adore the history of it, the fact that ideas are born there. We're seeing the emergence of that same culture now over in Tech City in east London, where people gather together to discuss and share minds.

So why am I going on about the differences in culture around different teas and different coffees? It's actually related to my last post about impulse and serendipity. Out last Saturday night chatting to two good friends, the three of us had an epiphany. We never phone each other up on the spur of the moment to say, "What are you up to? Fancy going for a coffee?" We always assume the other is too busy, that we need to plan seeing each other. In that perfectly British polite way that lends itself so well to queuing, we don't want to impose on the others' day. Chatting about it, we realised the reality was more often than not that each of us is free and would love a coffee, or a drink of any kind; it's less about the beverage, more about the setting and the conversation.

The culture shock of the forwardness of someone from the MidMed is tangible, and can often offend even the stiffest of British sensibilities. But they've got something right. The passion and the spontaneity of their get-togethers and their conversation lends itself to meeting up informally before then finding yourself having your opinion challenged, being offended, being forced to defend your corner. Going back to the history of coffee houses in London, how can you know what you believe, how do you know what you stand for, until you're challenged or until you hear a new idea that you find yourself agreeing with? Asking after family and health and work is all important, but how can you really know someone and know yourself until confronted with something you don't agree with or that excites you by its truth?

If you're with friends or with strangers, there's no need for ceremony. Of course, you need to be respectful of others' opinions; otherwise you're just arguing and attempting to preach and impose your own way of thinking, without being open to new thoughts. And I'm a great believer in the more realistic shades of grey within any debate that can't be tied up with pretty ribbons as you dust off your hands at a job done, as opposed to backing extreme black and white ways of looking at the world. Nor have we always got the luxury of sitting around for hours waxing lyrical. But if you've got time to kill and you're wondering what to do, why not head down to the nearest coffee house, grab the nearest friend (not literally, as that may lead to an awkward court case and subsequent restraining order), abandon the norms of polite conversation, and see where the next few hours take you.

Image source: I Heart Pencils blog

Here's to serendipity

How often do you follow impulse? I don’t mean a "If that guy sniffs that way one more time I’m going to deck him", desperate ‘I just can’t take it anymore!’ impulse. Or even a bargain-hunting "What?! 100 kilos of dolphin-friendly flaked tuna for £9.99!" impulse. These are the kind that may possibly wind you up in front of a jury, in jail, or drowning in a lifetime’s supply of tuna-mayo-sweetcorn sandwiches. Rather, I mean the "I wonder where that walkway goes?" or "What do I really feel like doing now?" impulse. The sort of unplanned moment where serendipity can sneak in by the side-door and surprise you with a bouquet of flowers, a foot massage, and an offer to take your grandparents out for tea and scones.

This isn’t for the faint of heart. Are you a meticulous planner, who knows the times of the local trains down to the minute? Do you know what you’re doing to the day weeks, no months, in advance? Does an inexplicable twitchiness take hold if an unexpected event throws up the potential of deviating from your beautifully drawn out itinerary? If so, you may want to look away now.

The above character sketch is alien to me. I have tried to be that person. Jokes about being a commitmentphobe aside, there’s something about always knowing what I’m going to be doing at any given time – and not being able to be flexible around that timetable – that makes me a little nervous. I’m not incapable of doing it; I’ll take on the role of planner and organiser if I must, and I’m happy to get out the diary to pencil in a dinner with friends. But I’ll need a little room to manoeuvre, the ability to tinker with the plans last minute, the flexibility for us to choose where we’re going on the day, rather than in advance.

This isn’t to say I’m an untrustworthy person, who’ll bail on you last minute on a whim. Let me elaborate: I think there’s an intimate connection between not being wedded to intricate plans, having an innate curiosity about the world around you, embracing impulse, and serendipity.

An illustrative story for you:

A good university friend of mine came to stay with me in London over Easter weekend. She’s from Warrington, is currently living and working in Berlin, has been to London a few times but hasn’t ever really ‘done’ the city as a camera-carrying tourist. I’d come up with a rough plan of which sights we could see, as we have similar interests. But we agreed we’d simply see which way the wind (and the rain) blew us on the day.

Bar a lie on the Sunday morning (bed… so… very… comfortable...) we got off to a good start with the Tube down to Westminster to gawp at the Houses of Parliament. On the cards next was a wander down South Bank, back over to St Paul’s Cathedral and then a Thames Clipper down to North Greenwich to see The O2 (formerly known as The Millennium Dome), before jumping on the Tube back home.

We may not have completely stuck to my finger-in-the-air plan. In turns out much of the day was influenced by my complete inability to locate places I’ve been to before, as well as my friend's craving for Nando’s. By way of justification for the latter, apparently there’s only one in the whole of Berlin; she was suffering withdrawal symptoms. There was also the crushing realisation that our mid-20’s joints can apparently no longer walk for more than three hours at a time. All was not lost however. It meant she also got to see the buildings around Whitehall, for a start. I rediscovered a beautiful, enchanted part of St James’ Park I stumbled upon over a year ago but hadn’t been able to relocate. Buckingham Palace also made an appearance (driven by the Nando’s urge, not my broken compass), as did Trafalgar Square. Even more unexpectedly, we found ourselves listening to the choir boys in Westminster Abbey during an Easter Sunday service. As well as lots of other lovely discoveries in between.

I hadn’t planned to do anything of these things. But they added to what turned out to be a lovely, relaxing day of sightseeing, minus the calls we’ll be making to our doctors requesting hip-replacements. All stemmed from a militaristic about-turn halfway down Westminster Bridge in order to hunt down the nearest Nando’s, and both of us then listening to our ‘I wonder what’s through there?’ impulse.

One of the things I'm seeking to capture in my rambling monologues is this very attitude – following the twists and turns of a city, as well as embracing feelings of impulse and curiosity. Cities are made for exploration, to be walked, made for discovery. One of the many things I love about London is the way its history is pinned proudly to its sleeve, forcing its way into your consciousness every step of the way. Another facet of my love affair with the city is that it’s grown organically throughout that history. Paradoxically, the result is a beautiful patchwork of architecture, culture and experiences lying in wait to be uncovered by the curious flaneur.

So many times over the last year I’ve almost ignored that twinge of "Ooooh I wonder what’s down there?" or "That sounds like it could be good" whilst out and about. Almost ignored. I’ve not yet been disappointed when I’ve listened to that childlike questioning in my head that wants to explore anything and everything. Like Alice heading down the rabbit hole, saying to herself "curiouser and curiouser", if a hidden walkway between shops looks promising, I’ll duck into it (note I said "promising" and not "dark, mysterious and foreboding". Safety first folks.) If I see a sign to an exhibition that sounds interesting I’ll do my best to check it out there and then or, if I’m unable to, I’ll go back to it when I can.  If a busker is playing music I like the sound of, I’ll try and sit a little to listen. Back to my ‘Headphones out, boys' post, I once managed to get the contact details of a book publisher for a friend after switching my music off on a whim. Nothing may come of following the impulse, but then what have you got to lose?

There’s so much that can come out of seeing the world in this way, outside of wandering a city. Some of the best photographs, for example, have been taken on impulse rather than planned. The Internet works on this philosophy, that you discover content you didn’t know you were looking for until you stumble upon it, after following a desire line of hyperlinks. Much like the other thread that runs through this blog – finding happiness in small things – I’m hoping to share more of my discoveries through the little stories I post here.  For now, I'll just say that if you embrace distraction and impulse – if you listen to the Alice in your head that wants to head down the rabbit hole – then who knows what you may find, what you may learn, what you may discover. You may well be pleasantly surprised by the serendipity that greets you when you reach the bottom.

A few photos from our lost but found Sunday

Looking out from the little cottage in St James' Park, rediscovered

Next to the rediscovered part of St James' Park

Curvature in buildings, something you see all around London 

Cutting through Whitehall Gardens

A patchwork of building styles in the Dean's Yard of Westminster Abbey

Choirboys running after finishing their choiring in Westminster Abbey

A grave laid in Westminster Abbey in 1082

A different view of the Houses of Parliament after cutting through another garden

The view after a detour over Lambeth Bridge, whilst hunting down a Thames Clipper