The second weekend in November has always been special for me.
It used to be a family tradition, when we lived at home. Going up to London on the second weekend in November, watching the Lord Mayor's Show in the morning. We'd get a hot drink from the café between Cheapside and Manor House tube station, before taking our spots opposite Robert Dyas for the parade. Turning our backs when the sand sprayer came past to provide an easier surface for the horses, dad would inevitably reference the old smugglers poem ("watch the wall my darling, while the gentlemen go by").
Afterwards, we'd get lunch somewhere - either the Pizza Hut buffet by Victoria or, in leaner years, a prepacked picnic. We'd spend the afternoon at a museum (the fond memories I have of the Museum Of The Moving Image!) or, in the years when football had taken hold before Gillingham became our club of choice, the Arsenal club shop at Finsbury Park station, before checking out the second hand books under Hungerford Bridge ahead of the fireworks on the Thames.
The train journey home always felt late - the tiredness of the day catching up to us, even though it was usually only early evening when we left Victoria. It was less than a fortnight after the clocks had changed and it was invariably catching up with us. I remember being talked into a magazine or book to read on the train home, probably to get some silence for the return journey.
The last time we had a family trip to the Lord Mayor's Show was three years ago. Again, it was the four of us, albeit with Dana replacing my brother as he had plans of his own. I always think of that day out as the beginning of the end. None of us knew it at the time, couldn't have known, but six months later - more or less to the day - the family unit would be no more. Sandwiched between gigs of artists I love - Muna the night before, Sigrid that evening - we had an early start. Engineering works meant that London trains went via Littlehampton, so we were up before the sun to get to London in time.
We met at Victoria, one pair from the Brighton side, the other from the Kent side, a fitting divide given the station's history. We took the usual tube route to the usual cafe and the usual spot. During the wait Mum took advantage of the nearby steps to rest while waiting for the parade. After the procession had passed we ambled towards Bank - not everyone was as steady on their feet at years gone by. We took time out to examine the postmodernist building at No 1 Poultry before going in search of pizza for lunch.
Rather than the usual chain we headed to Kings Cross for a branch of a Brighton chain. Dana and I wanted to show off our usual go-to whenever we ate in town. Walking through the gentrified area to get food I darted ahead of the group - I'd seen a woman with a pushchair struggling with the very pretty but not accessible steps, and offered to help. Later I'd find out how proud this simple act made my parents feel to witness.
A chat in the station pub nearby, then we went our separate ways - Dana and I to the gig (and I'm still still flabbergasted at £30 for a t-shirt, even though that's the norm nowadays) and my parents back home. It seemed unremarkable at the time, but that was one of the last few normal days I spent with my parents - six months later we'd be gathered in the William Harvey hospital in Ashford to bid her farewell.
The second weekend in November used to be crammed full of things. FA Cup first round day, the Lord Mayor's Show and fireworks, the Remembrance ceremony the following day. These events are more spread out these days, for various reasons, but this weekend is still special. It felt right going up to London yesterday, albeit for different reasons (seeing the debut gig of the actress who played the pink Power Ranger in the ill-fated 2017 reboot movie), but walking along Oxford Street, seeing the decorations at the beginning of the Christmas season, it felt right. Fitting. I don't know that I'll ever watch the Lord Mayor's Show parade again, but if I do, I've got a purple butterfly badge that I'll wear to mark the occasion.
