My Journal: December Trip to England

My travel planning style? Reckless and chaotic. Sometimes I plan weeks ahead, but more often I just get a hunch and go.

I was feeling the itch to hit a few markets and pal around London with a friend.

The hunch took me to Newark-On-Trent and London with a detour to Mansfield, where my paternal grandfather was born, weaving family history into my trip.

The Journey
I started my journey in NYC. Dropped The Gucifer in Brooklyn. Back to NYC. Next, Newark Airport (NJ). Landed LHR to Victoria and off to Newark-On-Trent. Sounds easy—but anything but.

Modes of transport in the first 24 hours: car, taxi, bus, foot, plane, tube, train, bus, Uber, foot, and eventually rental car.

Smooth travel to London was followed by numerous travel mishaps to Nottinghamshire.

Travel mishaps included canceled trains, endless delays, a late-night car rental debacle, and driving in pitch-black rain on the “wrong” side of the road in an electric car only partially charged.

Against all odds, after more than 24 hours of travel, I made it to the Beaumont Inn in Newark-On-Trent to attend the renowned antique fair of the same name the following day.

Note: I have driven in the UK and New Zealand but not in ages. And in the UK only in Cornwall, which is lighter traffic—but has its challenges. You think while driving, if I mess up, I will just land in one of the hedges that line most roads in the area. Oh, contraire—these may look like hedges, but they mask tall stone walls. Do not be fooled! And once you are off the main roads, you must drive by visual cues, like turn left at the duck pond and proceed to the large decaying tree. New Zealand was easy—not many cars on the road and simple traffic patterns sans circles!

Newark-On-Trent was my first stop, followed by Mansfield.

The Beaumont Inn has a highly recommended restaurant and a few cozy rooms upstairs. And best of all—a parking lot!

After checking in and dropping my bag, I headed downstairs for a lovely dinner. I chatted with other diners made up of vendors and buyers attending the same antique fair. They described what they did—collecting and selling. They advised to get there early for the best selection.

The next morning, I headed out early. Navigating the rain and the driving on the other side of the road, I eventually made it to the fair stressed but unscathed! The vendors were either set up outside under tents in the drizzle or in a series of small buildings. Despite the weather, I ran through the entire fair and then again to revisit things I found interesting. I was a bit disappointed with the showing, but I did manage to rummage and collect a few things. In hindsight, the prices were excellent, and I should have been bolder in purchasing.

That evening, back at the Beaumont Inn, the owner confirmed that those he knew in attendance were also disappointed in the showing, which was impacted by the inclement weather. Noted: attend in Spring and Fall—not Winter!

Quarry Lane, Mansfield: Returning to my Roots
I decided I did not need another day at the show, so I left the next morning for Mansfield—a detour to find the land my grandfather’s house stood on—anticipating an easy drive and perhaps access to a charging station for the barely charged electric car I did not request. Instead, I found no charging station, and I must have traveled through at least a half dozen traffic circles, which I have not and might never master in England. While all other drivers looked calm and unstressed, I looked like “The Scream” and was cursing while navigating the curves, praying I would make it to the other side without incident. With my eyes glued to the road, what little I caught of the landscape was a mix of pastures and forests. A bit of lingering fog added a sense of mystery to the area. I might point out this is Robin Hood territory—Nottinghamshire, Sherwood Forest…

Despite charging-station drama and traffic-circle stress, I made it to Mansfield, parked at a TJX (TJMaxx for those of us stateside), and hoofed it to Quarry Lane—where my grandfather once lived. I knew the house was no longer standing, but I had photos of paintings done by my Great Aunt Anne, a fine artist. They depicted the house and the surrounding landscape. I wandered the lane past Mansfield FB Club and some row houses. I eventually crossed the street and entered a nature preserve with beautiful trails over little bridges with a stream running through the area. There were passageways to quarries still operational—alas, Quarry Lane. I explored, eventually crossing the street again and passing through centuries-old walls and a tunnel. I touched those walls, knowing my family had touched them more than a century ago. I stopped a man coming out of a farm to see if the paintings meant anything to him. (And I studied his face carefully to see if we might be related.) He immediately pointed back to the nature preserve but north of where I entered, as the paintings depicted a pond which was in an area of the park I had initially skipped. I gleefully made my way back to the park and headed north.

Though the house was gone, the surrounding landscape matched the paintings. I believe the house stood at the edge of what is now a picnic area. From what I can tell from the paintings, it was built on the edge of the pond which emptied into a stream. I wandered through the area and felt a connection across generations. This was the spot where the house once stood. There, in front of me, the pond with ducks just like in the paintings. I CRIED. I felt connected to both my father and my grandfather. It was a moment of remembrance and gratitude, marking the intersection of family history and personal journey.

I left behind a golf ball and two Rummikub tiles—a ritual of remembrance—which I will explain in future stories.

I returned to my car and took a quick spin around the old heart of the city. I circled a church I believe housed works by my great aunt. Family records indicate she was asked to mural the ceilings of the church. Doors were locked—I will have to gladly visit Mansfield again.

I then made my way back to Nottingham to return the electric car that only had minimal charge left. Yikes! I felt it was a successful drive considering I only hit one curb and received only one honking by a city bus. And there was still 20 miles of charge left on the car. (Risky.)

I returned the car and hopped a train to London, where I spent the next few days with a dear friend attending additional shows and markets while also kicking back and just enjoying the city. I will say the weather was challenging, London receiving the residual near-hurricane weather pounding Wales. There was rain and wind so fierce I noticed birds unable to fly! I have summarized these markets in my Resources.

London
Arrived in London that Friday afternoon. Checked into the hotel and went out for fish and chips. That would be the first of about five servings of fish and chips in five days. My friend arrived later that night, and we had a nightcap.

Up at crack of dawn so I could hit up Portobello by 7ish before the crowds arrived. It was pouring rain and windy. While battling the elements to get to the tube station, my phone rang. Goose was staying with a friend in Brooklyn who called to tell me he was very sick, and she was rushing him to the Vet ER. I could barely hold the phone or hear a thing in the wind and rain, so I grabbed a black cab and headed to Portobello. I set up office in a deli so I could orchestrate the hospital and payments, etc. 4K and 48 hours later, Gucifer was back in Lauren’s arms. Phew!

So—I did Portobello followed by Alphies—see my notes. Portobello has been my stomping grounds for decades. Oh, the crazy and wonderful things I have purchased there for personal and professional use. Nothing (except Bermondsey Market—still in existence but nothing in its original form) could make me happier. However, the road has changed. Many vendors are no longer there, replaced by high street shops and cafés. So sad. And the prices—hello. Triple what I was buying for at Newark-On-Trent. (To come—my favorite buys and stories from my earlier days in the London markets.)

Disappointed, I hoofed it to Alphies Antique Market in Marylebone, which has not changed an iota. This is another place I have combed for and found incredible treasures! It’s an indoor maze of stalls and counters—never a bargain but always well curated. I did make a purchase there. However, while it seemed the same, there were two vendors I loved who were no longer there. There was a guy who sold trunks and movie memorabilia. He was a wealth of information and always told me to go to Ardingly Antique Market. Said it did not disappoint. Quintessential proper English people combing the meadows dressed in tweeds and wellies while walking corgis. I cannot get enough of that. The gentleman in this shop also supplied props for stores such as Ralph Lauren and Dunhill. So chic!

Formerly across the hall from his shop was a vintage hair salon and barber. I cannot stand how obsessed I used to be with this place. It was just a magical little moment in time. The stylists all sported vintage dos and facial hair. FABULOUS! But no longer there. I should have gone in for a coif when I had the chance, but I feared leaving with a beehive and waxed mustache.

Next stop—I met my friend Carol at Harvey Nichols and from there we roamed around the usual haunts. London was packed, freezing, and raining. If you don’t have time to wander the football fields of product at Harrods, Harvey Nics presents a tight capsule of current fashion. Although it does not have a shrine to Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed! We eventually headed for a pub and… fish and chips!

Sunday morning, I headed to Adams Fair in Westminster. (See my notes.) It was an excellent indoor fair of mostly jewelry and small objects. I found interesting things! I went on to meet Carol at Harrods, followed by a visit to the V&A. I love the V&A—always a pleasure. I was tired, so I hit the café for a little food and a tea while Carol continued to roam the museum. It was soooooo peaceful. Sitting. Dry. Until a group of people in a religious cult surrounded me and sat at my table to pray for me. My response—leave immediately or I will scream at the top of my lungs. Hello, read the room!

We closed the museum and went to our favorite pub, The Windsor Castle, and had dinner in the rain. One of us had fish and chips.

Monday—no fairs, which was great. It was a beautiful day, and we decided to go to Windsor Castle (not the pub but the real place). I have been to London a hundred times—but usually working and no time to just relax and sightsee. I had not been to Windsor Castle since I was five years old and traveling with my family through Europe. It was wonderful! We followed that by a concert and mass at St Paul’s. We covered the wedding venues for Megan/Harry and Charles/Diana. Then off to a pub for—fish and chips.

We were both leaving the next morning. Carol had an AM flight, and I had an afternoon flight. Got up at crack of dawn and took an Uber to Sunbury, which happens two Tuesdays a month. I got there late—5:30 AM—and things were in full swing. I rummaged in the dark for a couple of hours, and then the sun rose. It was incredible and accessible by train or car from central London. In all honesty—this was an incredible and diverse market with excellent prices. If you want to hit up an easy market, this is the one. Market packs up at 10 or so, and I loved it. (See my notes.)

Took a train back to London. Had lunch. Headed to the airport for my flight back to NYC. It was a quick trip packed with rummaging and hanging with my friend. Perfect.

Closing Thought
This first collection is the beginning of something bigger: rummaged objects, entwined with memory and story, offered as both artifacts and tales.

Chaos may guide the path, but that’s exactly where the beauty lies.