Tag Archives: Campden Hill Gardens

Early Start

I woke at, by any reasonable measure, a ridiculously early hour this Sunday; I’m not sure whether it was work still playing on my mind, or just the heavy dinner from the night before, whichever it may have been it was accompanied by the all too familiar ache in my side crying out for pain killers.

Leaving Dave slumbering I fumbled around the bedroom, eventually pulling on my favourite rugby top, a pair of moth-eaten old jeans and the softest socks I could find, before making my way to the bathroom, downing a few pain killers then padding through the house opening the blinds taking in the rainy morning before making my way to the kitchen going through the familiar motions of making a strong morning cup from tea that we seem to buy in excess from Whittards on Kensington High Street every couple of weekends.

Supping my tea at the open French windows there’s that wonderful soul cleansing freshness in the air, the sort that only a rainy morning can bring, and as the rain is coming down in slow and steady sheets the one thing that’s evident more than anything else is just how cold it is – it’s unusually cold for May, all the more so considering the heat we’d enjoyed throughout April.

I can hear the distant rumble of the westway above the pitter-patter of the rain, but other than that it’s quiet, the wood pigeons are cooing in the direction of Holland Park, and it’s still that glorious time of day that’s just before London’s gets going, and being a Sunday there’s no chance of the peace being shattered by Porsche Cayenne’s thundering up and down Campden Hill Road filled with Notting Hill über-mummies delivering their numerous offspring to any number of the hideously expensive private schools that scatter the whole area.

I’m wondering what to do, this is the earliest I’ve been up on a Sunday for as far back as I care to remember, so having finished my tea I decide it’s too cold and wet to warrant braving the weather for a Sunday paper, so instead I bunk down for an hour with a book and leaving Radio 4 on, ignoring the less than soothing tones of Sunday Worship. Quite why they still have that programme on is beyond me, in our secular society you’d think we’d be above wasting tax payers pennies on religious programming, but Radio 4, like the seasons carries on regardless.

It’ll be interesting to see where we end up in the coming months, I’ll miss this view across the roof tops of Kensington and Notting Hill, but with the building having been granted planning permission for ‘re-conversion’ into two massive quad-plex apartments the death knell is tolling on this particular building, hopefully the next house we get will be nicer thanks to a larger budget, and won’t have the usual rush of one lease to another, which almost always influences what you actually end up buying – more so than I suspect most people would like to admit.

Fuckwit Builders

We have the idiot workmen from hell digging up the road outside our house, bearing in mind how parking is at such a premium they’ve decided to ‘help’ residents by forgetting to get a proper parking suspension and have proceeded to dig massive holes in the road effectively beaching cars in little islands of tarmac.

You think I’m kidding, then behold…

Idiot Builders

Marooned Car

Apparently this is only the beginning, and it’s going to get worse, with them performing open heart surgery on the gas main along the whole street for the next 3 weeks, I’m dreading it frankly as they’re noisy, the mess is appalling and it’s going to be a nightmare to get deliveries to the house… and the irony of this, is that even to use the road we now have to pay eight quid a day for the privilege

Snow in Campden Hill

The view from my balcony’s french doors..

The view from my Bedroom.


I woke with a start this morning, partly due to the realisation that I was in fact already dreadfully late and partly due to our new found alarm clock that is St.George’s Church, just behind my house on the corner of Campden Hill Gardens which dutifully rings it’s bells in what seems to be no particular order at eight in the morning, midday and sometime around six.

From the moment I opened the blinds it was clear that the weather was going to be against  me all day, and as I walked out onto the balcony clutching my early morning dose of caffine it was became rapidly clear that it wasn’t just sheets of cloud flying across the sky above Trelick Tower on the horizon, but a fine drizzle was also starting to fall, the sort that can only be described as miserable drizzle; that stuff that soaks everything it comes into contact within mere seconds, which effectively  leaves you looking like a drowned rat for the whole day no matter what you try to do to dry off.

The only good thing weather wise was the cool stiff breeze, which was blowing the leaves around Campden Hill road in great swirling vortices, showing the first real sign of autumn taking hold that we’ve seen this year, as I strode out the flat I was a man on a mission, 30 odd photos needed sourcing, setting up, taking and finally processing – not the easiest of tasks when some of the things you’re taking photos of are entirely shrouded in cloud, and by the time I’d walked the familiar 400 yards from house to tube station I was utterly soaked; they say that the man with the weather has a sense of humour, if he does – it’s an evil one.

Campden Hill-Billy’s

And we’re in…. yay! – I’ve actually been blogging while the net connection has been down at home, so I’ll get them online shortly. It’s been quite nice not having the net at home, I’ve covered more papers and books than I’d ever normally do!


It might appear all calm on the western front, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, the new house is less than 24 hours away, and a weekend of white vans, lumping, dumping, swearing and being generally knackered is on the cards, and oh boy am I looking forward to it. It’ll be so nice to have my own space back, all my stuff, and most importantly our own little castle, high up on Campden Hill… Indeed it’s a move of only 92 steps from our old flat, it’s just a pity of those two moves we’ve had to take such a detour! But who cares, the weekend beckons as does our warm new flat and I can’t wait.

Notting Hill

Well we’re settled, just about – didn’t take long to move all the bits and pieces, still got some bits to come tomorrow, but nothing that we can’t handle. I love the new house, it’s gorgeous, warm and cozy, and what’s more it’s only 12 minutes on the tube to work, which means I can come home for dinner, and avoid all the long journeys stuck on the tube for hours trying to get home.

Notting Hill suits me down to the ground, busy, cosmopoliton, and very funky, I’m looking forward to living here for a very long time: Me and Dave could not be happier…

New Flat

So we’re now residents of W8, The royal borough of Kensington and Chelsea – 30 Seconds walk from Notting Hill Gate, and I couldn’t be happier, the flat is slowly taking shape, and the landlord seems to be a sorted chap, so no more ranting to get simple household jobs sorted.

Loving W8

London W8Isn’t Notting Hill a fabulous place, full of fantastic shops, brilliant restaurants, the most fantastic walks: through Hyde Park, down to Holland Park, or along Kensington High Street to Kensington Gore, I love the place to bits, it’s just fab isn’t it!

We were sat in Notting Hill last night having an all day breakfast for dinner, (confused yet?) and I realised how long it is since the first time I ever set foot in what’s become my favourite part of West London, and it’s years, and for someone that’s never lived there (not yet anyway) it holds a helluva lot of memory’s good and bad for me.