Sunny Afternoon/My Generation

May 5
Sometimes the best things happen to you when you don’t expect them. On this day in London, I did not have great expectations for my chosen outing, yet it turned out to be one of my most favorite days during the entire trip. I decided to go to Chiswick House. The neighborhood of Chiswick is only 15 minutes by Tube from central London, but it felt like a lovely English village. Although I only traveled through two travel zones of the London Underground, I felt like I had journeyed out to a whole other county—one filled with rustic, quaint villages. I intended to go directly to Chiswick House, but got a little bit turned around, which ended up being a happy mistake. I walked up and down a few impossibly lovely streets. The weather was incredible—sunny and hot. At the end of the day when I peeled off my skinny jeans that I mistakenly wore, my legs had turned blue—the heat and humidity had made the dye run.
Sidewalk cafes, wonderfully authentic fish and chip shops, organic grocery stores, and beautiful row houses lined the streets of Chiswick, which were for once absent of tourists. Here I could observe Londoners in their natural habitat at a slightly slower pace than in central London. Everybody in this little neighborhood seemed so happy—stylish young parents pushed well behaved children in delightful strollers, flowers bloomed in front of every single house, and people sat chatting under umbrella-d tables.
I finally made it to Chiswick House, and from the very moment I walked on the grounds—down a wide lane lined with enormous shade trees—I knew I would love this place. The House (just an old aristocrat’s house) has extensive grounds, and before I went in the actual building, I wandered for a few hours in the grounds. It was so incredibly beautiful! This was prime English park/woodland. It had so many green trees and shrubs and huge ivied trunks. Parts of the grounds grew wild with free-growing trees and shrubs, and some areas had been carefully gardened—vast swaths of cut grass, manicured hedges, a lake with swans and a weeping willow, and a white bridge over a brook. It felt so wonderfully English. Walking through the woodland, I listened to the hobbit parts of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, because this environment looked a lot like hobbit country, verging on elf country in some parts. I simply could not believe the wonderful vibrant shades of green, leafy, deciduous, muddy forest and parkland.
In the more manicured, gardened parts I listened to the Beatles, including the songs “Rain” and “Paperback Writer,” because the Beatles filmed the promotional videos for these songs in those very gardens. I also listened to “Blackbird” while lying on my back in a thick, warm bed of grass, and let me tell you, it never sounded so perfect.
I finally actually went into the house. Normally visitors just walk themselves through it, but by my good fortune, I happened to arrive just as an architect began a guided tour through the house explaining the architecture. I joined the tour and actually learned quite a lot about architecture. A rather barmy old aristocrat had built the house with some very idiosyncratic architectural choices. I rather liked the decoration of the house—mostly simple, but with just enough adornment to look fancy. I particularly liked a wallpaper made of royal blue velvet.
Coming out of the house, I listened to the Kinks’ “Sunny Afternoon,” which with its subject of eccentric rich people lazing on sunny afternoons seemed to relate. This particular Monday happened to be a bank holiday, and the grounds hosted many happy families enjoying their day off. Children frolicked with balls, old people walked together arm in arm, and spaniels and terriers ran around yapping. The children were actually playing with each other and not with some handheld electronic devices! It was, in a word, idyllic. I felt like I had stepped back in time or rather, had stepped into a postcard or into The Secret Garden. It was nostalgic, country English life. Finally I tore myself away, got an ice cream back in the village, and made the short journey back to central London, my body pleasantly tired from so much tramping through the forest.

May 6
Back when I first visited London, I had not yet made a discovery that made a huge impact on my life. I had not yet fallen in love with the Who, and thus I did not need to make a pilgrimage to the origins of this most London-y of bands. So on this trip to London, now that I had found my musical soulmate in Who songwriter/guitarist Pete Townshend, I had to visit the London neighborhoods that had made such an impact on the Who’s music, style, and ideas. So on this day I went to Shepherd’s Bush and Carnaby Street. Back in the mid-60s, the Who became the unofficial voice of the Mod movement. Mod only really ever happened in England, so we Americans have a hard time understanding it. I’ve had to rely on magazines and movies to really explain Mod to me, but I never understood it quite so well as I did walking down the street in Shepherd’s Bush, wearing my Who leather jacket, and listening to early Who hits. I won’t attempt an explanation of Mod here. You can try Wikipedia for that.
Shepherd’s Bush is a neighborhood in southwest London that even today retains a distinct feeling of post-war, lower middle class English life—the exact environment from which the Who emerged. I visited the site of the Goldhawk Social Club, where the Who made their name with their explosive (literally), revolutionary live show. This was the only specific place I visited; otherwise I just walked around the neighborhood, listening to the Who, and absorbing the ambience. As on so many days in London, I felt like I had time-travelled, only this time only back to the 1950s and 1960s. The strongest feeling of the past came from the food places. I got my first fish and chips at a real, small fish and chips stand where they only serve fish and chips and still wrap it in newspaper, the grease seeping through the paper. I got my fish and chips before I saw the Zippy Diner, which was a straight throwback to the 50’s: mixed grill, egg and bacon, beans on toast, steak and kidney pie. I was so full of chips that I only managed a blackcurrant milkshake.
But while I drank my milkshake on a vinyl stool, the proprietress of the establishment actually mistook me for someone she knew! She started to ask me a question about some apparently mutual acquaintance when she realized that she had never before set eyes on me. I felt immensely proud to fit in so well and proud that I had been mistaken for a local. And although no one noticed my Who jacket or said anything about it, I felt incredibly good wearing it. Listening to “I Can’t Explain” and “My Generation,” I felt like an authentic Shepherd’s Bush Mod. The neighborhood still held a feeling of overwhelming mundane-ness and English working class suburbia.
I then headed to Carnaby Street, which was one of the centers of Swinging London, a small lane tucked away off Oxford Street that hosted all the hippest clothing stores, where all the Fab people got their “gear.” Carnaby Street does still have some very interesting shops, but all in all it has not retained any kind of special atmosphere. Sadly, it no longer swings. Lo and behold, the Lambretta store had lots of Who merchandise, and after many goings in and out of different stores, I finally bought a Who shirt there. But after I bought it, I discovered some stores selling vintage Mod gear, including the Ben Sherman target T-shirts made famous by Keith Moon. The proprietor of one of these shops noticed my Who jacket, which made me very happy. I had a truly outstanding take-away dinner of sweet potato falafel from a “fast-food” place. At the end of the day, I felt like I had accomplished my Who pilgrimage and shown my dedication to the band.