Somewhere historic: Syon Park Hounslow has more than its fair share of elegantstatelyhomes. Alas none of them are open in November. So I went to the biggest, just west of Brentford, and took a brief wander around the lush autumn parkland on the estate.
Syon House is the London home of the Duke of Northumberland. Ah yes, I was up at his northern residence - AlnwickCastle - earlier in the year. But that had some real history, whereas Syon House merits little more than a minor footnote in our nation's story. There used to be a medieval abbey on the site, but that's now just something for "Time Team" to dig up and Lord Percy's home has risen in its place. The house is currently covered in scaffolding, part of a winter makeover, so visitors are having to make do with a motley collection of assorted alternative attractions. Greatest of these are the gardens, landscaped by Capability Brown, and yours to visit for a mere four quid. Splendid they may be but I couldn't even find a sign pointing the way in, let alone spare the time for a look round.
Never mind, because Syon Park boasts a host of commercial hangers on. At the bottom of the car park, directly underneath the booming Heathrow flightpath, a mosaic lepidoptera flaps its wings above the entrance to the London Butterfly House. Alas this attraction closed for good last month, not that there's any sign to this effect posted outside. Nextdoor is The Tropical Forest (formerly The Aquatic Experience), a hands-on conservation experience especially aimed at children. The organisers seem particularly reluctant to divulge their admission charges, both outside their main entrance and on their website, nor even to outline precisely what you'll find inside. Redevelopment plans at Syon Park (the Duke fancies a new hotel) will soon doom their exhibit to the same fate as those endangered butterflies. Far more popular on Saturday afternoon were the adult retail outlets brought in to diversify the Percy's economic throughflow. Plants were being trolleyed out of the Wyevale Garden Centre like it was a spring bank holiday, and the Edinburgh Woollen Mill was proving essential to many a local lady's wardrobe. History pays, so it seems, even in November. by train: Syon Lane by bus: 235, 237, 267
Somewhere sporty: Griffin Park Alternate Saturday afternoons, in the backstreets ofBrentford, a red and white army is on the move. They sport a protective armour of scarves and official club fleeces, wrapped up warmly against the autumnal chill. All generations of footsoldier are represented, from the youngest apprentice to the most elderly general. They slip silently from their homes, making their way to the terraced arena before battle commences at the 3pm whistle. On every corner the sheriff's men keep watch in their fluorescent jackets and pointy helmets, their eyes peeled for any premature disturbance. Crowds gather at a multiplicity of muster points, each labelled by a coat of arms, for fortifying ale and hearty sustenance. A serving wench at the Princess Royal ladles steaming barbeque meat onto the plates of hungry troops, while others make do with a saveloy or hot dog from the serfs in the scullery.
The enemy have been sighted! Their official coach is laid up on the bridge alongside the queen's highway, arrived here this morning after a forced routemarch from Darlington. But the opposition have already slipped away to make last minute preparations, and now only a lone watchman stands guard outside. Still a merry band of local men streams in, their number now just over two thousand, each busily discussing tactics for the afternoon ahead. They stream over the tarmac drawbridge and through the security portcullis, pausing only to cast a few gold coins at the programme seller beside the gate. The dulcet tones of the minstrel Seal flow down over the grey battlements, as the assembled crowds within prepare themselves for the off. An epic second division tournament is anticipated. Let the Battle of Brentford commence!
(Damn, two-nil home defeat. Bees whacked) by train: Brentford by bus: 65
Syon House is the London home of the Duke of Northumberland. Ah yes, I was up at his northern residence - Alnwick Castle - earlier in the year. But that had some real history, whereas Syon House merits little more than a minor footnote in our nation's story. There used to be a medieval abbey on the site, but that's now just something for "Time Team" to dig up and Lord Percy's home has risen in its place. The house is currently covered in scaffolding, part of a winter makeover, so visitors are having to make do with a motley collection of assorted alternative attractions. Greatest of these are the gardens, landscaped by Capability Brown, and yours to visit for a mere four quid. Splendid they may be but I couldn't even find a sign pointing the way in, let alone spare the time for a look round.
Alternate Saturday afternoons, in the backstreets of Brentford, a red and white army is on the move. They sport a protective armour of scarves and official club fleeces, wrapped up warmly against the autumnal chill. All generations of footsoldier are represented, from the youngest apprentice to the most elderly general. They slip silently from their homes, making their way to the terraced arena before battle commences at the 3pm whistle. On every corner the sheriff's men keep watch in their fluorescent jackets and pointy helmets, their eyes peeled for any premature disturbance. Crowds gather at a multiplicity of muster points, each labelled by a coat of arms, for fortifying ale and hearty sustenance. A serving wench at the Princess Royal ladles steaming barbeque meat onto the plates of hungry troops, while others make do with a saveloy or hot dog from the serfs in the scullery.
