Back in London

I love coming to London.  The friendships I've made here, over the last forty years, have changed my life.  I've spent my thirtieth, fortieth and fiftieth birthdays in England.  My buying trips to England—visiting shops, markets, fairs, collectors and "pickers" (from Brighton to Glasgow)—have helped me to distinguish LEO Design from my neighboring shopkeepers.  And I have always availed myself of the wonderful cultural amenities London has to offer: theatre, museums and music.

I also love moving-through London's incredible infrastructure.  Since the Victorian Age (and possibly earlier), the people who have governed and done business in London have made it a place that works.  Yes, it's large and bustling—and it contends with all the issues which afflict any place with large numbers of people (crowding, crime, grime).  But city and national leaders have made practical investments (for centuries) which have enriched the city for those who live and work (and vacation) in it.

London's public transport system is a key example of such investments—and a model for any large American metropolis.  Traveling across this large city provides one numerous experiences of grandeur.  Not always glitz or glamour, but scale and ambitiousness.  Arriving in London—through a shining new air terminal or a grand Victorian train station—one immediately senses London's importance and admirable self-regard.  These places are portals which announce "You have arrived in a remarkable place."

Shown above, London's Paddington Station—just one of London's many wonderful Victorian train stations.  It is a blend of great taste, ambitious scale and brilliant industrial engineering. Which city in America offers its new visitors such a grand and thrilling (and navigable) portal into the bloodstream of its daily life?  Such an entry informs the visitor that s/he has just arrived in a very special place.

If I'm in London on a Saturday morning, you'll find me at Portobello Road in Notting Hill.  Thirty years ago, a few hours in this market would be amongst my most profitable.  I'd buy so much merchandise that I'd have to take a cab back to the hotel (to avoid a stroke while lugging too many heavy bags through The Tube).  Over the years—like in antiques markets everywhere—Portobello Road has suffered.  The shear number of antiques dealers has declined precipitously. The number of multi-dealer galleries is much reduced (replaced by bakeries and home decor shops).  The tourists still come.  And the remaining stallholders have focussed upon those things which tourists seem to like: chintz teacups, silver-plated toast racks and newly-made novelty knick-knacks.  I cannot blame these dealers for purveying that which the customers will buy.  But it's sad to witness the changes.  As I mentioned previously, this is not the situation in London alone. The antiques trade is a low margin, labor-intensive industry which does not lend itself to high-volume economies of scale.  Any antiques seller has spent hours picking-and-choosing and accumulating the things s/he likes—"sifting" through mountains of merchandise to collect that which his or her customer may want to buy.