Open House

We got back from Montreal on Monday to realise that we had missed London’s annual Open House weekend. Normally I (and now with Dave willingly in tow, we) make a big effort to make the most of the opportunity to explore behind the scenes at some of London’s both well- and lesser-known landmarks. On previous years, I’ve been to the Bank of England and the derelict hotel of St Pancras chambers and last year we had a thoroughly grand day out. We started at the insanely opulent Foreign Office and then, since it was next door, went into the Treasury, which had been vastly renovated since my last visit, though sadly the tour no longer included the chance to go round Gordon Brown’s office, which was previously the main highlight. Then it was over the road to St Stephen’s Hall, Westminster and through the tunnel to Portcullis House. Then, as I had worked for them by proxy for four years, we continued on to Channel 4 HQ on Horseferry Road. After much anticipation on my part, there wasn’t really much to see there, as Channel 4 is a commissioner rather than a maker of programmes. Just lots of computers in open-plan offices, a smart roof terrace and some funkily shaped glass. After lunch in the Lowlander in Covent Garden, we then hopped over the road to see the Freemasons Hall, which has to be one of the scariest places in the world. With its strange mix of Roman, Egyptian, Greek and Christian theology, combined with gilded mosaic, stunning stained glass and workers tools in aprons, you really had no clue as to what they might get up to inside the temple. Child sacrifice was high on my list of suspicions. Finally, we went south of the river to Ken’s pad, City Hall, from where our London day was so perfect that Tower Bridge immediately opened before us when we set foot on Norman Foster’s balcony.

So this year we missed out, though my dad seems to have trekked round quite a few places in our absence. (It’ll be the one and only time in his life that he heaps praise upon an institution such as Ernst & Young, that’s for sure.) We also missed Open Squares weekend this year as it clashed with Vicky’s wedding. Last year we spent a lovely day trailing around the gardens of Bloomsbury and Kensington, seeing how the other half live, as well as climbing up to a couple of exotic roof terraces. By the time these open days come round again, we may not be living in London any more.

Montreal was great, despite being only blocks away from the high school shooting when it happened (though thankfully we were blissfully unaware of this at the time) and Minnie, the friend we were visiting, being stuck in bed with a lousy flu for most of the week we were there. Still, she offered us plenty of "open house" hospitality of her own in her beautiful new apartment, bought for a mere 85K with more square footage than Dave and I could ever dream of owning in the UK. Montreal’s a classic example of how much richer a place can be once all the stupid English-speakers leave. It’s such a wonderful, cosmopolitan city, with vibrant neighbourhoods, glorious parkland, decent public transport (at least within its urban core), fine markets serving fresh, organic produce, and a vast array of fabulous restaurants and bars, where each day could be rounded off with top-notch Quebecois beer and iced cider. Our first day was spent getting over our jetlag at a spa in the Laurentians, nestled beside a roaring river and steep hills layered with trees showing the first tinges of autumn. We also managed a trip to Quebec City, which is somewhat twee, but in the nicest possible way, even if some of the stupid English speakers have returned as tourists.

We at least came back to a finished bathroom, though the shower doesn’t work properly any more.

REBECCA