The oldest house and street in London

 OK I survived the 90 degree heat. Trying to sleep isn’t easy when you’re sweatin’. The windows here are not the pull up type. They are the open outward type. They don’t open very much. There are no screens  So I hung my head out window in the 6 inch opening all night. Har. This all reminds me of childhood when nobody had air conditioning. We maybe had one fan. it

Yesterday I had one goal: Visit Cloth Fair street. The oldest street in London. On it is the oldest house in London. 

It is named Cloth Fair because once a year merchants would awa was have a fair in the church yard across the way and sell, you guessed it, cloth.

The house was built in 1600. I’m sure the street had been in use way before that. The church across the street was built in 1123, St Bartholomew the Great. 

It just blows me away to stand on one of the original streets in London that dates back so far. To think what it must have been like in 1123. What were the peoples lives like?

 Their houses would have dirt floors. There would be animal pens, barns all around you. Surrounding the village would be farm fields. You were ruled by a king.  You would live til maybe 40. Women wore long dresses covered by tunics. 

The house and church survived the great fire of 1666 in which 50% of London was destroyed. Imagine half your city lays in ruin.

This is what I love about London, the history. It’s so interesting and it’s  around every corner.

Almost homeless in London

 On the 3rd night things take a dramatic turn. 

I always ordered my groceries for delivery at home. So I thought I’d try it here. So I order it just like usual, pick a time slot for delivery. Everything’s cool.

Get a message saying they are behind. Okay, that’s alright. Time goes by.  I had ordered a evening delivery and it’s getting late. I had told them ring the buzzer and I’ll come down and get it. So I thought maybe they had just left it at the door. So we thought we’d go to check.

So we went out to the hall to go downstairs. The door shuts behind us. We go downstairs. It’s not there. Come upstairs and discover THE DOOR IS LOCKED! Do we have the key? Ah no…we were just going 50 feet down to the door. The lock is from the 1920s or something and automatically locks.

So we are staying in a five unit condo building. We are on the second floor. WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO NOW?! Remember I told you the owner is in France? Neither one of us had our phones with us to call anybody.

I am picturing us spending the night on the street, homeless in London. I’m picturing the police breaking down the door.

So we think- hey maybe there’s a sort of caretaker in the building who has e very one’s keys or something…So we knock next door. No answer. Okay go downstairs.

Door #2: Guy offered to help us force the door open. Ah no…Door #3 The guy knew the owner and had her number! He said he’d call her. I fell at his feet to worship him. Har.

So he calls and comes out to tell us her parents will be there ion 10 minutes to let us in. Hallejulah!

She comes. We apologize profusely. We go in. I superglue the key to my hand. (!) All is well. Another crisis averted