Our first stop at the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland? Mulled Wine. It’s £4 a cup, but when you’re standing in freezing night temperatures, it’s a must to keep your hands from going numb and to warm you from the inside.
We had some good laughs trying on hats (for example, one that looked like a fish – you stick your head up into its mouth), ate some bratwurst smothered in ketchup, watched the pretty lights of the rides and bought a a couple goodies from the Christmas market. There’s also an ice skating rink if you’ve got good balance or don’t mind a few bruises.
You pay for rides and food at regular fairground prices, but entry is free and it’s a nice experience just wandering around and soaking up the atmosphere. Friends of mine went on a weekend which is apparently crowded, but we went on a Monday night after work and it was just right. The Wonderland is open till 10pm. Dress warm!!
On the corner of Wilkes Street near the Sunday UpMarket and Brick Lane, this brick a house draped in pretty Autumn leaves. I wasn’t the only one who stopped to snap a few photos. Walking on through the market, I caught a drift of mulled wine in the cool air – true Autumn/Winter season in London!
Last Saturday, I decided to visit Borough Market, pick up some orange-stuffed olives and have a warming glass of mulled wine before the holiday season escapes completely and the mulled wine stalls disappear. The market is unique from other London markets because it only sells food – and some pretty unique choices and delicacies at that. (Ostrich, anyone?) It’s down near London Bridge, open Thursday – Saturday. If you go, I recommend a stop at Monmouth for coffee and dinner at Brindisa (a Spanish tapas restaurant near London Bridge station – you can’t book a table, but it’s worth the wait!)
Here’s a few photos from the market:
Check out their website for a list of traders, events and open hours.
A girl with a porcelain face, void of emotion, passes me on the pavement every day. In the morning, our paths cross around number 102 on my street; on the way home, near house 17. She has perfectly straight chestnut hair that rests on her shoulders. Her jeans stretch down long thing legs without a wrinkle. They nearly hide the wooden wedges, but never the tips of her rounded shoes, coloured as if she were a ballerina who danced on a stage flooded with mulled wine.
Perhaps I see her more than most of my friends, but that is all I know.