Pootle. It’s a British word that should not be confused with a French canine, and it is a term I was introduced to via a German friend who picked it up during her decades of living in the UK.
The definition is similar to the construction of the sentence above. It means to travel without any particular aim or hurry. I suppose the nearest synonym would be meander, or perhaps the equally plosive putter and potter, but MrElaineous and I have taken to using various conjugations of pootle to describe our days out.
One of which happened recently during a London visit that could either be considered impromptu or a long time in the making because it technically started during a trip to the Natural History Museum last autumn.
Getting to the NHM requires a walk down the tile-lined subway connecting South Kensington underground station and the museum quarter. This passage was built in the 1880s and stretches much of the way down Exhibition Road; it was originally constructed to stop visitors from crowding the street. Today, it allows pedestrians to safely navigate the high-traffic area, but it still feels very much of its time. The advertisements that line the walls are the only indication of the present, with posters for the latest museum exhibitions, movies, and West End shows vying for the attention of those passing by.
MrElaineous and I would usually ignore these in our quest to get from A to B, but we both stopped in front of a poster bearing a rather long title:
Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York)
It was intriguing. The entire plot was encapsulated in one line.
We promptly googled it and discovered it was at a small theatre in the north of London, the equivalent of off Broadway … but further away. We tried to figure out how to fit it in during subsequent London visits but could never make it work with other activities. Time passed and it faded from my mind.
Until MrElaineous popped into my office on Monday to say the show would be closing at the end of August. Should we try to see it?
I looked at my calendar. I was in the middle of teaching preparation, but my courses hadn’t started yet so I theoretically had time. The show had transferred to central London, so we could easily get there and back within a day. Decision made. We booked tickets for a Wednesday matinee.
And that’s how I found myself pootling around Paddington Station less than 48 hours later. According to my mental map, this area was a dead zone, full of harried commuters, people grabbing one last drag on a cigarette or vape before heading into the station, and taxis dropping off customers. It was a place to pass through rather than spend time in.
At least that’s how it was when we last visited several months ago. But sometime between then and now it was developed into Paddington Square, a location with cafés, public art, and offices. As the very nice security officer explained to us when we tried to venture into the main building, much of it is still under construction and not actually open to the public, but we made a note to return to the advertised rooftop restaurant at some point in the future.
We descended to the underground and emerged in the very heart of London at Piccadilly Circus. This international landmark is known for its giant advertising screens and 19th-century statue of Eros, which was constructed to commemorate the philanthropic works of the Earl of Shaftesbury.* The god of love is forever frozen in the act of aiming an arrow down Shaftesbury Avenue.
And the damage was done before we realised it. Both MrElaineous and I were struck by Cupid as we walked to our next venue, a Waterstones bookstore spread across four levels. It was an easy place to fall in love with since we had time to browse through books and boardgames, taking a closer look at whatever happened to catch our fancy. We had no agenda, and interesting covers and staff recommendations could be consumed at leisure. The result is that we may have walked out with more in our bags than we originally walked in with.**
Finally, it was time to settle into our seats at the Criterion Theatre. The stage was piled high with luggage; a single carry-on suitcase endlessly circled the mounds on a revolving conveyor belt. The sound of an airport was piped over the speakers, with the occasional roar of an aircraft taking off drowning out pre-show chatter. It did well to set the scene, as well as disguise the rumble from the nearby Piccadilly line trains that run next to the 150-year-old theatre.
The musical itself was both simple and multi-layered, much like the titular wedding cake, with stellar performances by the two leads … who may have been understudies. Either way, they did an incredible job in this feel-good two-hander.
I don’t want to give away too much, but the fact that it had a full house at a Wednesday matinee with laughter at the appropriate moments, silence during the emotionally intense scenes, and an audience that immediately sprang to their feet to give a standing ovation as soon as the show ended gives an indication of how enjoyable it was. There was even a lesson or two: sometimes it takes a stranger to see you for who you truly are and tell you what you need to hear.
Over the past few years, running my own business has meant that spontaneity has given way to daily schedules and long-term strategies. Yet the sheer joy of purchasing tickets on a whim and wandering without a perfectly made plan—of taking a moment to step away from it all—paradoxically reminded me why I run a business in the first place. After all, this day wouldn’t have happened if I worked a traditional 9-to-5.
But that’s the power of pootling. It’s available to anyone, at any time, in any place … and can shake up old routines to give you a new perspective. It may be a silly-sounding word, but I can’t think of anything more sensible to do.
* If you’re thinking that Eros makes a rather unusual choice for a statue dedicated to a philanthropist and MP who, among other things, helped to reduce child labour and improve housing conditions for the poor … you would be right. The artist’s intent was for the memorial to depict Anteros, the god of selfless love, which is far more logical. There was even an attempt to name the statue The Angel of Christian Charity. However, the family resemblance—Eros and Anteros are brothers—meant that the name Eros has stuck, resulting in a memorial that has become a London landmark. [Return to text]
** For complete clarity, I feel I need to specify that we purchased a handful of books and boardgames; they didn’t end up in our bags through any nefarious means. [Return to text]
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