My 24 hours in Soho - #Soho24 Part One
Friday 28th November 9pm
If you turn left off Charing Cross Road into Manette Street, you will find yourself in front of the gateway into London’s most colourful square mile. Walk through the archway here and you will truly enter Soho. This is the same archway that Christopher Petit describes as ‘a border-post, the crossing where obligations could be left behind.’ It is Friday night and the pub on the corner in Greek Street is surrounded by usual clusters of young party-goers. If you take another look tonight though, you may spot a blond woman in a scarlet coat, standing on her own. Her face looks somewhat anxious and worried as she glances nervously at her mobile phone. That solitary figure is me just about to start 24-hour tale of exploration and endurance in Soho…
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Outside The Pillars of Hercules I am far from feeling that I have left my obligations behind. I’m thinking of my wonderful husband and my little daughter and wondering how on earth I have come up with a crazy idea of spending 24 hours in Soho. What’s more, it means 24 hours of voluntary deprivation of sleep! The pub doors open with a swing and out roll out a couple of bulky looking ‘gentlemen’ who must have started celebrating a good while ago… They seem to find keeping balance while manoeuvring with their full glasses through the crowds quite a challenge. I step back quickly in case they won’t be able to keep the contents of their glasses or stomachs in…
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After Janet arrives we brave our way through the crowds doubtful that we will find a place to sit unless it is somewhere at the ladies… Miraculously, I spot a table and two chairs at the far back and we sit down - Janet with her juice and I with a pint… “So tell me what the plan is.” my friend fires away after a few minutes of chit-chat. “There is no plan really.” I fire back. Indeed there is no plan. In general, the idea is to stay awake for 24 hours and see what life brings. Needless to say, the idea is also to stay away from trouble and troublemakers and then one day write about it all. An hour later Husky Fan joins us with a glass of Coke and asks “So tell me what the plan is”… I have by now ordered another pint and the immediate plan is in fact to drink it up before they kick us out from the cosy pub into the streets of Soho.
Saturday 29th November 00.30 am.
After a few hours in a crowded pub the air outside feels oddly like a sea breeze… By now alcohol has soothed my anxieties a bit and I feel excited watching the lights of Ronnie Scott’s in Frith Street just opposite Bar Italia where crowds are even bigger now than those outside the pubs a while ago. I spot the familiar figure of Hugh… There are now four of us ready to roam the streets of the fast changing Soho.
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Thomas Burke once said ‘For when the respectable Londoner wants to feel devilish he goes to Soho, where every street is a song. He walks through Old Compton St. and instinctively he swaggers; he is abroad; he is a dog.’ I don’t think we are swaggering so much along this legendary Soho Street tonight. We are rather focusing on making our way through the crowds. For a moment I wonder how many of those people know that this street took its name after a bishop. The exciting street that runs through Soho seems to be always full of wonderful possibilities… As we get to the corner of Dean Street I willy-nilly switch into my guiding mode and tell my friends about Dirty White Boy- a shop that Clayton Littlewood and his husband ran, the brothel that used to be upstairs and fantastic books that Clayton has written about his life in Soho.
***
It is not quite 2am yet but the streets start emptying. We take photos of a couple of Paddington Bear sculptures, play around with the virtual museum screen of MOSOHO (Museum of Soho) and admire the Christmas lights in Carnaby Street. Now and again I can’t help but guide or at least point out some plaques or some signs: “This is where Canaletto lived.” I look at one of the signs ‘models’ and remember reading how the signs in the past would offer ‘French lessons’ upstairs. Needless to say, we aren’t interested in ‘models’ tonight. We do enter a sex/book shop earlier on but just 5 minutes later it is time for them to close. It is a warm night but I can feel a shiver down my spine. I can feel a wind of change coming into once seedy Soho. If nothing stops this wind, then Soho won’t be much different than other places in London full of trendy restaurants and clubs.
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Saturday 29th November about 3am
Back at the buzzing Bar Italia you could be excused thinking that you have found yourself in a café in Italy. Everything about this place is authentic including their coffee, famous Gaggia machine and the baristas. We are all happily drinking from our cups while Husky Fan is taking brilliant photos in the streets without alerting anyone’s attention. The baristas love the photos and are happy to pose for some great shots. I feel like part of the Polledri family as I am watching the tide of coffee lovers coming in and out… in and out. The tide brings in a young woman who is clearly in need of a caffeine fix as she slurs her words out: “Tell me you love me! Don’t look at me like that!” Her voice full of emotion. I am honestly hoping she is not saying it to me…
***
A man with an immaculate white scarf casually hanging around his neck walks in with a lady in a purple night dress. They could be theatre-goers or some celebrities. Honestly, I wouldn’t know the difference. Two young foreign looking pretty girls are siting by the wall both guarding their suitcases. Their faces either tired or bored. Perhaps both. “It feels like the whole world is coming in…” says Hugh who is reduced tonight to standing after he had offered a seat to me. I am making my way through the bar and down the steep steps to the ladies. It takes a long while before the door opens and out emerges a woman in her forties looking a bit disoriented and confused with mascara running down her cheeks. Suddenly, I feel an urge to see my face and check my make-up. A bizarre thought runs through my mind that I should have volunteered to test some cosmetics that claim to stay on your face and make you look beautiful throughout 24 hours…
***
I can’t recall the last time I had a meal at 4am but the idea is most appealing, Husky Fan and I share a fabulous pizza followed by amazing macchiato with a double espresso. My heart starts beating a crazy march and as I stare at Rocky Marciano’s naked chest on the wall, a sudden shout “Coostaaaa” cuts the air like a knife. I can’t help but jump up on my stool. This is barista Dario drawing attention of Costa at the door who is making sure that our little Italy stays a safe haven. Janet sitting on my right smiles and I explain that too much caffeine is playing tricks on me.
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Husky Fan has to go so we leave Bar Italia that has nearly become our home. The wonderful Soho institution that is still here 65 years after it had opened. Our talented photographer jumps into a black cab and we are left with nearly 2 hours to kill before Bar Italia reopens for breakfast. We stroll around Soho Square and read MOSOHO history panels. Soho is full of ghosts of people and places. If I could only travel back in time, I would love to go to Colony Club and have a drink with Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon or listen to Marillion at the Marquee. What would it be like to get invited to one of Teresa Cornelys’ hottest parties in town in 18th century in Soho? I could even meet Casanova, if I timed it right. Here I am daydreaming while Janet and Hugh decide that enough is enough and sit down on very conveniently positioned benches just outside Quo Vadis restaurant and next to Sunset Strip club. When Pepino Leoni opened his restaurant in the 1920s he was not sure where this career path would take him and “Quo Vadis” (Where are you going? in Latin) made a perfect name. Dean Street looks deserted and even the hottest club in town next door is no longer open. I start wondering if we should have been a bit more adventurous and got ourselves a £15 ticket into Sunset Strip…
***
We would have stayed on our benches for a while longer, if it hadn’t been for a sudden appearance of a troubled man who ends up highly dissatisfied with our reluctance to buy “Big Issue”. “I bought one a couple of days ago” explains Hugh while Janet tries to soothe the guy with her lovely voice. I opt for pretending not to understand him. Sadly there is no way to calm the man down. He articulates a wide array of issues and grudges against the world in general and us in particular. We get up and leave but the “Big Issue Man” has his final word: “At least I am handsome! And you are white, bald and ugly!!” He got it all wrong...
Saturday 29th November about 6am
It feels very surreal to be standing outside the legendary Bar Italia again in Frith Street at 6 o’clock in the morning. Deprived of sleep and now also of seats, we longingly watch the staff as they take the tables and chairs out so they can mop the floor. The stone floor itself is 65 years old… I wonder how many times it has been mopped and how many millions of people walked over it. A delivery van appears and cleverly parks just inches from the tables and chairs outside. Suddenly, I become aware that we have some company… They are Sam and Garry from Manchester. With her dark hair and dark complexion Sam reminds me of and exotic bird and of Frida Kahlo at the same time. She is tipsy, happy and chatty. They’ve had a wonderful time and seem very eager to share some details with us. “And what do YOU think?” Sam’s finger points at me. “What do I think of what?” I am too tired to word it in a more polite manner. The truth is that I have been watching Sam but I haven’t been listening to her. The question concerns my attitude towards sex female workers. My experience is limited to one night years ago in Amsterdam and a show that featured female stripped dancers equipped with bananas. “I am quite open with regards and can’t see anything wrong with it.” I admit. Sam agrees and adds: “I love women, but I am not a lesbian.” Before I think whether I should define my sexual orientation, Garry asks about our night out. I explain the idea of Soho 24. “Is it some penance?!” Garry seems incapable of grasping the idea and makes a very generous offer: “We are staying at the Hazlitt’s, come with us and get some sleep. We will have some breakfast together”. As much as visiting the famous hotel round the corner sounds tempting, I am not interested. In the meantime Sam has been helping the staff pull down the enormous banner celebrating 65th anniversary of The Bar Italia. Her offer on providing some assistance was somewhat overwhelming: “I know how to do it. We run cafes and bars!” Just as suddenly as they appeared, Sam and Garry bid their goodbyes and disappear from our lives…
Saturday 29th November about 8.30 am.
Except for one customer by the wall who has been reading a book I seem to be the only person inside Bar Italia. I’m sipping my breakfast – freshly squeezed apple, carrot and ginger juice and thinking fondly of Janet who kindly had paid for it before she left at 8am that is half an hour after Hugh had called it a day. It feels strange to be on my own… I reach for a free newspaper and read the front page news. There is an article about Madame JoJo’s who has been forced to shut down after over a century of being a real Soho institution. Another Soho institution gone…The funeral march is going to take place today…
It is 9am and it is time to face Soho on my own. I have exactly 12 hours left and no plan really…
To be continued…
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I would like to thank Janet Stewart @tenajtiger, Hugh Gallagher @HughGallagher12 and Husky Fan @Swim1965 for keeping me wonderful company throughout the night. Special thanks to Husky Fan for brilliant photos! Many thanks to the staff at Bar Italia especially the great baristas @TheBaristas and compliments to the chef.
To find out more about Clayton Littlewood @claylittlewood and Soho please read my previous post
