Memories of Ravenscourt Park
Sunday, March 23, 2014 at 17:55 
H/T Al Murray who posted this photo on Twitter earlier today.
It shows Ravenscourt Park in west London which is a minute's walk from where I lived, and worked, for two years in the mid Eighties.
Excuse the self-indulgence but it brings back a lot of memories.
In 1985 I moved from a shared flat in West Kensington and rented a tiny studio flat in a quiet tree-lined road that runs the length of the park.
Although it was very small it was the first time I'd had a place to myself. At university I'd either shared a room or a flat.
When I moved to London from Aberdeen I went from one flat to another, always sharing. Flatmates came and went so when I got the chance to have my own place – size didn't matter – I leapt at it.
I was offered the basement of a terraced house close to Ravenscourt Park, between Hammersmith and Chiswick. It had its own entrance which led into two rooms, a bed sitting room with a tiny galley-style kitchenette at the back, and an equally small bathroom.
The owners lived in the house above with their (three?) daughters. My landlord was an actor who appeared quite regularly on TV; his wife was an actress too but she had given up acting to bring up their children. Instead she wrote articles for magazines.
I wish I could remember their names. The writer Julian Barnes was a friend of theirs so it felt quite bohemian.
To this day I have never forgotten the magical moment I put my key in the lock for the very first time, knowing there was no-one else there.
If I wanted peace and quiet, I could have it. If I wanted the TV on I could watch the programme of my choice.
It was a little claustrophobic at times (there was no garden or patio) but it was cosy and I liked that.
It was also perfectly situated. It was a no through road so there was no passing traffic; it was a few hundred yards to the District line station; Hammersmith and Chiswick (where I later worked in an old converted warehouse) were one and two stops away; the river was within easy walking distance; and there was the park.
I was beginning to think I should move on and buy somewhere when something happened that left me no choice.
Each year I invited a handful of friends to a pre-Christmas lunch at my place, wherever that was.
Although the Ravenscourt Road flat was tiny I could still cater for 6-8 people if they didn't mind rubbing elbows and sitting on each other's laps. (Once seated around the table moving was not an option.)
With the turkey in the oven and the Christmas pudding gently steaming I sent everyone to the pub on the other side of the park.
Five minutes later I joined them and after two or three pints I'd forgotten all about the pudding.
Walking back to the flat an hour later I got an inkling all was not well when I saw smoke pouring from a basement window. My window.
To cut a long story short the water had evaporated, the saucepan had melted (there was a huge hole in the bottom) and every wall and surface (with the exception of the bathroom) was thick with soot.
Miraculously the turkey, which was in the oven, survived the carnage and here's the thing. After the smoke cleared we sat down and ate our lunch as if nothing had happened. Surreal.
One of my guests was Todd Buchholz, a young American economist who later worked in the White House during the Bush administration. I'm still in touch with Todd (we stayed with his family in San Diego last year) and the experience has clearly left a lasting impression. Good or bad, it's hard to say.
Sadly I couldn't hide the damage from my landlords (they weren't that bohemian) and after Christmas I was asked to leave, in the nicest possible way. They wanted, they said, to create a granny flat and the fact that the space had to be redecorated gave them the perfect opportunity.
Well, that's what they told me.
Anyway, when I was in Chiswick last year I took my daughter to where I used to live and pointed out the house. She loved the location as much as I did.
Sadly her chances of living there would appear small. I have just Googled properties in Ravenscourt Road, London W6, and a house identical to the one in whose basement I lived is on the market for £4 million.
That's right, four million pounds.
You'd have to be Al Murray to afford that.
PS. One other memory of Ravenscourt Road.
I once woke up in the middle of the night to find someone trying to climb in to my basement room via the sash window.
I heard a noise and saw a figure struggling with the window lock. Perhaps because I was half asleep I felt no fear and didn't think twice.
"Fuck off!" I shouted as loudly as I could.
He must have thought the basement was empty. He probably thought he could climb in and make his way into the main house.
The shock of hearing me scream must have been enormous because it was otherwise so quiet.
All I know is, whoever it was fell off the window ledge, ran up the steps, and was off down the road like a scalded cat.
In hindsight, it was quite funny.
Reader Comments (4)
A nice piece. I was at school in nearby King Street in the 1950s, not that I have good memories of my time there. I enjoy your evocation of the area though, and of the river, and, as I look back, of its pubs and local beer.
I like all that part of West London. In the late 60s I lived variously in Chelsea (Cheyne Walk, but the Worlds End end, opposite the houseboats), South Ken, Notting Hill Gate, Knightsbridge, and Queensway, but socialised from Hammersmith to Soho and everywhere in-between. When I returned from Australia late 70s, I was in Ealing, Acton, Shepherds Bush, Maida Vale and Kensal Green, having been priced out of my previous haunts. But my local pubs were still pretty much the same. The Earl of Lonsdale in Portobello Road and the Warwick Castle in Maida Vale were the regulars, although I frequented many others.
I haven't spent time in that neck of the woods for years now, maybe twenty five, but I loved it when I was there. Had an absolute ball. Of course, that was well before the insanity of the smoking bans. I imagine it would be very different now.
Lovely part of London even to this day, and I was born just around the corner from there, in Goldhawk Road in the late 60's.
I share your warm memories of the area, Nisakiman. I met my wife - she is here now as I write - in the Six Bells jazz club on the corner of Oakley Street and the Kings Road, Chelsea, in 1961.