Restaurants
PETERSHAM NURSERIES, WC2 GLYNNE ARMS, FLINTSHIRE
It’s the last Saturday in June, and I have just returned from the terrace of the Dove Inn, near Hammersmith Bridge, my favourite riverside pub.
James Thomson is said to have written Rule, Britannia! here, which goes a long way to explaining why the song is so repetitive, tired and emotional. We have nothing to thank him for. The line ‘Britons never, never, never shall be slaves’ has done irrevocable damage to the attitude of the British waiter.
It’s hairdryer-hot out there, and Londoners have discovered their inner nudist, mostly with regrettable results. All I want is to find a cool space, without direct sunlight but with dressed customers.
If only I had the energy to make it to Covent Garden, I would set up shop at the Petersham Nurseries for the rest of the weekend. I went there for dinner in November, and it was so cold that Clare and Zarina kept their coats on throughout. The anglophile Boglione family, who hail from Bra, near Turin, the epicentre of the Slow Food movement, one hopes have another success on their hands, 15 years after opening the mothership in Richmond.
This is a vast emporium: two restaurants, a florist and a shop. You would be right to suspect it’s a tad expensive, but you can have fritto misto for £16 at their cicchetti restaurant, Goccia, or a just-affordable two-course lunch at the Petersham (both are part of the Covent Garden complex).
It’s quasi-italian food but they can’t resist offering the near-mandatory Keralan fish stew. The starters and risotto were good, but best of all is the courtyard of Floral Court, all pots of lavender, where you can eat under the sky. ‘It’s all knickers and no fur coat,’ said Clare (she doesn’t get out much). It’s perhaps a little too tasteful, but if you like Provence, you’ll love it.
Last Easter, The Oldie’s Town Mouse, Tom Hodgkinson, became alarmed about his son Arthur’s forthcoming Latin A-level exams. So, being a Victorian tyrant by nature, Tom dragged the blessed Arthur off to Gladstone’s Library to revise. The Grand Old Man
not only endowed the library with £40,000, but transported 33,000 books from his own collection by wheelbarrow. In 1902, four years after his death, the Gothic library was opened, ‘to bring together readers who have no books and books who have no readers’.
It is the perfect place to escape. There are 26 reading rooms, where you can ponder, read and research. There are lots of courses – not least Greek in a Week. And it is silent, save for the occasional visit by members of the public.
‘Glimpses’ of the main library are possible at 12pm, 2pm and 4pm. So if you time it right, you can also stay and have a sandwich at Food for Thought, the library’s refectory. What’s more, Charlie Gladstone, W E’s entrepreneurial descendant, has restored the village pub, the Glynne Arms. Less a boozer than the house of refreshment it was intended to be, it is bright and welcoming, especially if you have a tail. The downstairs rooms are large and kitted out with young Charlie’s vintage posters and artefacts, and all the meat comes from the estate.
You’d be lucky to get better bangers and mash within 30 miles of Chester. I like to think Arthur escaped there occasionally, en route to getting his A grade.
Petersham Nurseries, Floral Court, London WC2E 9FB; www. petershamnurseries.com; tel: 020 7305 7676; two-course lunch: £29.50
The Glynne Arms, 3 Glynne Way, Hawarden, Flintshire CH5 3NS; tel: 01244 569988; library bedrooms from £69; bangers and mash for £14