IN 1979, aged 20, I took my nephew to see the Christmas lights in Oxford Street. Not because he wanted to see them (he was a tiny baby), but because I did. The fact is that nothing enhances the pleasure of a Christmas treat in London more than the addition of a child or two. The more the merrier, in fact, because they bring a level of excitement, innocence, energy and joy that no adult companions ever could.
Not that they haven’t been mildly troublesome on occasion over the decades. One year, a small child, who shall remain nameless in order to spare his blushes (Jack), disappeared from the Harrods Toy Department (also known as the Seven Circles of Hell), causing the whole shop to be locked down and searched (he was discovered trying on cravats in Menswear).
Another year, an even smaller child (Bert) insisted on inspecting every single item for sale in Hamleys (Hades), which took him three hours on account of his size, before deciding that he didn’t really want a present at all (as I told him, children who receive no presents only have them elves to blame). Then there was the year that my godchildren (Jane, Tom and Cosimo) were delivered to me in such a cake-and- Coke-induced state of hyperactivity that we had to abandon £400 worth of theatre seats. In short, the little angels do require a certain amount of careful husbandry.
Anyway, to mark the 40th anniversary of our Christmas expeditions, I have produced a short guide to the best that London has to offer they h very young and, in my case, the not-so-young.
Eleven ways to keep them busy
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der December 04, 2019-Ausgabe von Country Life UK.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der December 04, 2019-Ausgabe von Country Life UK.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
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Give it some stick
Galloping through the imagination, competitive hobby-horsing is a gymnastic sport on the rise in Britain, discovers Sybilla Hart
Paper escapes
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For love, not money
This year may have marked the end of brag-art’, bought merely to show off one’s wealth. It’s time for a return to looking for connoisseurship, beauty and taste
Mary I: more bruised than bloody
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A love supreme
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Private views
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Shhhhhh...
THERE is great delight to be had poring over the front pages of COUNTRY LIFE each week, dreaming of what life would be like in a Scottish castle (so reasonably priced, but do bear in mind the midges) or a townhouse in London’s Eaton Square (worth a king’s ransom, but, oh dear, the traffic) or perhaps that cottage in the Cotswolds (if you don’t mind standing next to Hollywood A-listers in the queue at Daylesford). The estate agent’s particulars will give you details of acreage, proximity to schools and railway stations, but never—no, never—an indication of noise levels.
Mission impossible
Rubble and ruin were all that remained of the early-19th-century Villa Frere and its gardens, planted by the English diplomat John Hookham Frere, until a group of dedicated volunteers came to its rescue. Josephine Tyndale-Biscoe tells the story
When a perfect storm hits
Weather, wars, elections and financial uncertainty all conspired against high-end house sales this year, but there were still some spectacular deals
Give the dog a bone
Man's best friend still needs to eat like its Lupus forebears, believes Jonathan Self, when it's not guarding food, greeting us or destroying our upholstery, of course
