Late Breakfast... As Greek As It Gets!

I wasn't doing very much this morning when I got a call from my friend Alex (photo, left). He'd been out partying in the neighbourhood and was looking to start what was left of the day in style. I suggested a late breakfast and he suggested souvlaki. At Earl's Court, of course, you can do both.

The short walk down Warwick Road to Earl's Court tube is not too spectacular, but it is a cheerful stroll and it usually makes my day. Looking out of my front door (photo, up left), I catch sight of the Kensington Mansions. I had hoped to live on that side of the road, but alas, it was not to be.

Now Alex and I were to meet at the station (photo, left up) , a huge construction which brings to mind the station at Peiraias: both were once rail stations, I think, and are now left looking awkwardly large (photo, right) in the crammed towns that have sprung up around them. This one certainly is primitive: an arrow points to the platform the next station will be arriving at, and to its destination. You never know when it is due.

Following a typical station-exit mix-up which by now does not surprise me, Alex and I meet, walk past the Lunatic and start to make our way towards Earl's Court's famous Greek souvlaki restaurant, As Greek As It Gets. We pass the beautiful Blackbird (photo, left), a pub with an unashamedly black facade which I've always wanted to visit, but have never had any reason to. But the Blackbird cannot hold our attention for long. A wonderful specimen of British Absurdity looms straight ahead...


The Knife Surrender Bin (photo, right). Apparently the London Metropolitan Police is concerned about the knife culture that's sprung up in London recently. That is, of course, only fair. Alex and I do have some doubts about the means employed to curb the trend, though. I can almost imagine the argument: The no. one reason why teenagers carry knives is because they've got no convenient way of disposing of them. And, once they've got the knife (or machette, in some photos) on them, they feel obliged to stab or hack at someone. Gosh. I never got to stab anyone growing up. Anyway, good luck with that.

Still considering the intricacies of the Knife Surrender Drive, we make our way to As Greek (which is what we call the place, in the blase brevity of international students everywhere). Now this is everything a Greek restaurant abroad ought to be: the menu includes everything you wish they served at your local souvlaki place, and a few things you are glad they don't (who pays 3.50 pounds for a glass of retsina anyway? It's not even Kourtaki!). Giannis Ploutarchos features on the TFT displays (photo, up left), and the portions are large and oily (photo, right). Extremely good vegetables in there, I thought, and an excellent serving lady, Eastern European if I can still spot them in London.

The problem with late breakfast in London is that, by the time you are done, it is dark already. Preparing for a round of online psychometric tests, I make my way home, past the rather depressing Exhibition Centre (up left). My brother would love the show: Jeremy Clarkson will be tormenting some excellent cars in there this month. With that thought, I turn homeward just in time to catch one last glimpse of the setting sun on the Kensington Mansions (down left). I'm holding my own against the short days so far, let's see how long I can keep it up.