London - Penny-dropping

A nation of shopkeepers - how Napoleon once famously dismissed England. Although England's glory has long since given up the ghost, Mary is mighty pleased England is still a nation of shopkeepers. Attractions we visited en route between shops. It hardly mattered that the weather was archetypically English - we spent much of our time indoors.

We were happy to be back in London, even if it wasn't for long. For me, there was no longer the need to face what we came to christen Mary's Quandary every morning - to snooze that extra hatful of minutes or to enjoy our bleary-eyed hotel breakfast. No prizes for guessing who was always first out of the blocks on our London leg. Mary also felt particularly empowered by news of an individual baggage allowance of 32 kg instead of the usual budget 20 kg.

On the first of our three days in London, we did a marathon ramble with an unwieldy square box from Camden to Marble Arch via Russell Square, Covent Garden and Piccadilly. I used to run in the Camden and Mornington Crescent vicinity in my time in London from time to time, but it was my first time visiting the Camden Lock Market when we did. For the uninitiated, a lock is a device on a waterway which transports vessels smoothly between two stretches of differing water levels, like a lift for boats.

Below: Amy Winehouse used to hang out at Camden. They tried to make her go for rehab but she said no no no. You can see why. From top to bottom: scooter seats rehashed as benches, lions compare manes, the world famous Camden Market and the Old Curiosity Bus.

The Camden Lock area is an excellent example of urban regeneration. The area fell into disuse and disrepair as the development of more and better roads contributed to the decline of the London canal system. In the 1970s, the place was refurbished as a crafts market by three enterprising young chaps. While the crowd may have become a lot more cosmopolitan, the creativity remains unabated. And the incessant drizzle that day hardly dampened its buzz. We spent close to an hour in a shop selling Turkish lamps, discussing the (im)practicalities of purchasing one. We went against wisdom and ended up buying not one but two (hence the box mentioned in the previous paragraph) which we managed miraculously to fit into our existing suitcases.

Above: a gem of a bookstore.

The next stop of note was the Waterstone's outlet at Gower Street, amidst the erudition of Bloomsbury. The five-storey establishment, Europe's largest academic bookshop, has an outstanding collection of books, not least its remainders section. Mary disappeared into the Education section, while for me an hour's foraging yielded Plokhy's Origins of the Slavic Nations, Pomeranz's The Great Divergence and Tripp's History of Iraq at knockdown prices. Only the baggage allowance prevented further purchases.

The rest of the day was spent amongst rather more prosaic retail outlets - Cath Kidston's amongst them. Mary hung out along Oxford Street while I met some of my capoeira friends for dinner (see next entry). It was also a night for lights. In four years, I've never once spent Christmas, nor the run-up to Yuletide, in London. It was another first for me. There was a decidedly more festive feel than in Ukraine, or the places where I spent Christmas in my years as a student (Syria, Senegal, Cyprus), with the exception of Spain.

Below: top to bottom, Christmas lights along Long Acre, at the Christmas Fair at Leicester Square and along Oxford Street.

Convent Garden became a favourite, and first, port of call. We had a straight bus there from Southwark (pronounced Sou-therk) - RV1 - so we began each day there. From there on the second day we dropped by Harrod's - this time via the Tube. Harrod's needs no introduction. You can buy nearly anything you want inside, short of the moon. In 1967, a elephant was purchased in Harrod's for Ronald Reagan. We soon tired of its gelatinous human flows and labyrinthine interiors, and beat a hasty retreat towards Hyde Park.

Above: top, Covent Garden - some things don't change, but people are amazed nonetheless; bottom, Knightsbridge, where people come to buy elephants.

The lights at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park can be spotted miles away in the dark. We were drawn there like moths, along with every other tourist in London. A decision to cross the road using the underpass near Hyde Park Corner station saw us walk right into another human morass. When we inched out at the exit, we saw it extended all the way to the entrance of Winter Wonderland. It was the Sunday before Christmas.

23 December, our last full day in London, passed in like manner. Lunch was a fancier affair than usual at the Rainforest Cafe along Shaftesbury Avenue. As to be expected, it was a boreal-themed restaurant, complete with a bubbling forest stream, elephants and apes which trumpet and grunt at appointed intervals and leafy surrounds. Children loved it, and many pranced about with abandon. Make your reservations, queues formed even at half past two.

Our last stop in metropolitan London was the new Westfield Mall at Stratford. Here was yet another London phoenix which rose from the ashes of suburban decay, with a wave of urban renewal planned for just before the 2012 Olympics. Stratford is located in the East End of London, for years the Cockney capital of crime and grime. It was the first London stop for National Express coaches between London Victoria and Cambridge. During my undergraduate days, its nondescript industrial surrounds were usually my first sight of London, as I struggled to shake the sleep out of my eyes. It is nondescript no more.

That night we walked, bags in hand, back to the hotel with the winds in our sails. It knocked advertisement stands over, pushed us along the pavement and swirled in our empty pockets. The penny dropped. Every last one.

We waved goodbye to London and welcomed the rest of our lives.