My maternal grandfather was a horticulturist and, as such, had a commercial attachment with Covent Garden’s flower market, particularly for his roses.
Decades later, my mum and I enjoyed many days out in the square. There was a particular bistro in one of the former storage cellars we particularly liked. We’d eat listening to the conversations of others and often to music wafting in from a street artist.
The covered market was a treasure house of clothing, jewellery and ornamentation. Then the tiny shops including finding Lush by following our noses, long before Reading had a branch.
Covent Garden tube station is an experience in its own right. Arriving on the platform gives no sense of the ascent to come. We never did brave the stairs with their warning upon the number of steps, using instead the lifts with their trellised safety doors.
The mural painted on the Royal Opera House never went unremarked.
Later still, a memorable night out with friends involving home made cake in an unusual book and art shop.
