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Blogs by Steve Kerr
April Weekend In Bayswater 4/13/2015 10:32:37 AM
The sun began to set over Bayswater on a Friday evening.It
is a part of London that is always very close to my heart.An
area that was once my patch in shades of bygone youth.The
traffic as manic as ever soared over the Bays water Rd and
the neighbouring Kensington Palace watched Friday evening`s
traffic en route to diversion in the west end or
slippers and armchair at home. It has been a very warm day.
On Moscow road a long queue winds and coils like a Cobra
outside the Greek Cathedral of Saint Sophia.Security guards
allow entry to five as five exit.Inside the building
people cram into every available space as the whole vast
Byzantine place bursts at the seams.The choir of heavenly
wisdom interprets the ancient Byzantine hymns with awe and
the sweet sound reverberates around the cathedrals icons
and candles .The air oozes a heady aroma of rose petals and
incence on this Greek Good Friday.Up on the Bayswater Rd a
light from the Cafe Diana shines onto the pavement.The
cafe only a few yards fro the once residence of the late
Princess ,in whose memory it is dedicated to.Only two
customers grace its tables and drink coffee and eat almond
croissents.The street is unusually quiet for a Friday
night giving it a feel of a village square.Back on Moscow rd
the patient faithful having queued for nearly an hour began
to turn weary .A young man dressed in the traditional
dress of foustanella complete with black shoes topped wth
red pom,poms hands out leaflets to the queue.Hymn
sheets,order of service,prayers? NO !!-they are menus for
the local Kalomaras restaurant in Inverness
Terrace.Darkness falls over the area as a few tourists
pitter patter down the steps of the neighbouring Notting
Hill Gate station.The lights shine warmly out of Saint
Sophia.Its presence an integral part of cosmopolitan Bays
water since the mid 19th century.Its elegant red brick
exterior blends in with the other buildings in the area.
A night chill descends over their roofs.
The next day I arrange to meet friends at a relativly new
Italian restaurant at Embankment.The prices reasonable and
the portions of pasta large and always delicious.We
discuss topics from East London``s dissapearing Jewish
culture and the 1960s comedy" Never mind the quality ,feel
the width"to education and spirituality of various forms
with a degree of comedy thrown in and the red wine adds a
glint to the proceedings.I go home and rest-a bit to
long and wake up the following morning to the bright sunny
day.The fuss,expectaion and celebration of the Greek
Easter midnight Anastasi has passed me by but I donn my
best suit and tie and head out early to Saint Sophia only two
minutes from my residence.The street dirty from broken red
egg shells and candle wax from the excitement of the night
before.Now perhaps I am showing my age but when I lived in
Greece, Easter was a day to wear your best clothes and
express joy through that outlet.It is sad to see most
people were wearing casual jeans and sloppy T shirts to
go to church on Easter day.Sense of occassion?YES,I know that its what counts
inside ,of course but it is sad to see a tradition
that added so much to the expression of joy on Easter day
slowly going and for what?Why? are we really truly more
liberated or free in worn jeans and shapeless Tshirts???
The tube plays up .Several lines are delayed .Tourists
jam the district line in amazed bewilderment.Yes - you
are in London.I arrange to meet an old friend for a drink
in villiers Street.I choose a new rather chic place .Bad
move .It soon fills up with a flock of pretence, whos
designer clothes, shoes,handbags and acquired recieved/media
pronunciation soon engulf the place giving it an
unpleasant air.Whatever happened to humble folk?.
I lunch alone and wander up to Bayswater station and
search for a Greek restaurant where surely there will be
some degree of festive air.I wander up and down
Queensway in my search .From the Morrocan tea shop at
the top to the British pub at the bottom ,then I remember
the Kalamaras restaurant,a stones throw away.It sits
awkwardly almost embarrassed of its self in a side mews
.Its entrance narrow as is the long eating area but it was
here that the likes of Dusty Springfield,The Beatles and
others of that ilk once dined on moussaka and souvlakia.I
order in Greek .The waitress looks at me with some
suspicion,then assures me that there is a table for one
available mid the crowded space.I sit down at a small table
amid rows of tables full of Greek famliys laughing
loudly,celebrating Easter and getting a little merry on
retsina.A pleasant atmosphereis created by the happiness of
the clientelle.Another waitress appears and slams an hors
d`ouve on the table .I order a drink in Greek.WRONG MOVE!!
shes not Greek and is very angry telling the manager that
he should take my order.Taken aback I trip over my words
as I order. A fiest of
mayaritsa,lamb,salad,cheese,tsoureki,easter eggs and a
selection of sweets follow washed down by fine retsina.Now
the moment I have dreaded cracking my red easter egg alone
.The moment is saved when a family next to me see my
plight .One of them moves his egg over to crack
mine"cristos Anesti" he smiles we shake hands and exchange
seasonal greetings. A fine meal and good value .The temperamental waitress however
might do well to know that there are hundreds of others at
the job centre who could easily replace her.
