Honestly? I don’t have any recollection whatsoever of my ‘first’ trip to London. But I do remember trips to London as a child to visit my Dad at his office.
We used to go on the train – it was the days when there was a corridor running along one side of the train and little compartments off the corridor – from Bournemouth to Waterloo.
I remember going to see various shows – Annie being one I loved, and Starlight Express being one that none of us much enjoyed.
I remember Alice, who was the cleaner / tea lady (?) at my Dad’s office – a real cockney who would always make a big fuss of me and my brother.
I remember going to visit an elderly and eccentric friend of my Dad’s (Uncle Clifford) who lived in a beautiful mews house off St Martin’s Lane and did magic tricks for us. (Wow, the power of Google – despite not remembering the name of the mews he lived in, I’ve just found a photo of the very place on t’internet! Amazeballs).
I remember going to the first ever McDonalds and it being hugely busy, and loving the strawberry milkshake.
But weirdly, I don’t remember the first time I saw any of the sights at all. Strange what we remember and what we forget, isn’t it?