When I was a teenager - and a wee bit smaller than I am today and an awesome amount more naïve, I loitered - without malicious intent, I might add - in the Notting Hill area, namely it's quaint, yet rather sprawling market at Portobello Road. I introduced myself to the wonderful, colourful pubs, eateries and antique stalls and stood drooling, amazed at the pot-pourri of delights. However, sadly, in my 'wide eyed and bushy tailed' state, I fell foul to the old PPPP - known simply as the, Professional Pick Pocket Ploy. Undeterred, but much wizened for the experience, I began to study up on the history and beginnings of the market - and it's now, very trendy, adjoining area known as Notting Hill Gate.
It's origins go back to farmland and the name Portobello - having been named after Puerto Bello in the Caribbean. Consequently, there is nothing strange in the annual celebration that brings folks of various colours and creeds together for a massive three day street party of hedonistic proportions that emulates the carnivals one gets to witness in Trinidad and Rio - Brazil. The focus of this August Bank Holiday Bonanza derives from the roots of the West Indian Community who got to settle in the West London Borough in the early 1950's and as such, with it's immense vibrant display of colour, intense characteristic food smells, rhythmic jungle beats and contagious party atmosphere. All attributed to those intrinsic Caribbean roots. Which is why the Notting Hill Carnival, with it's international flavour, attracts those to it from all parts of the globe. Those who wish to soak up the abundance of joy that comes from unyielding exhibitionism and hedonism that is definitely untamed and only matched in their country of origin. Many years ago, gangs of Down Under PPP's 'Professional Pick Pockets' cleaned up big at this Carnival. It wasn't over- policed in those days and as the British used to complain, "we once transported the buggers down there and now they've come back to haunt us!"
Beginning in 1964 this vibrant Festival has grown in strength and magnitude with gorgeously decorated floats, loud libidinous music and gyrating women who enjoy nothing more than showing off their ample bosom and girths for those who are hungering for a feast of flesh.
Although every year one will find a rather large police contingent, this year almost every Bobbie (Gendarme) in the Scotland Yard squad was on the beat and were given special permission to pat down - not so little - 'Tommy and Tim' checking to see if they were carrying anything they shouldn't. Coming on the shirt tails of the horrific London riots, it is not surprising. And, while this is an altogether brilliant gathering of community and spirit alike, there are low points to be considered. Opportunism runs rife and my little scrape with those aforementioned PPPP (No longer from Down Under) those many years ago, still occurs in great abundance during festival time, so potential visitors best to check your STWW
(Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet and Watch) at every opportunity.
Squashed to the seams with a vast array of people straining to get a glimpse of the highlights - is really not terrific fun, especially if you are petite. Smelling the body odours instead of the food aromas is neither great and pleasant either, particularly when you are, like myself - arm pit high. And, having lived in Holland Park in my youthful twenties, I can assure you, being so close to the aftermath festival bravado and raucous noise extending into the 'wee' hours of the mornings, isn't that terribly invigorating either.
But still, as the photos detail, most enjoyed the vivacious celebrations that the Notting Hill Carnival had to offer and instead of sounding like a dinosaur, I shall leave it to the vibrant pictures to tell the story. At least one can say, that the usually cold and characteristically stark, West London suburban brick walls get to witness a much needed injection of life for three days of the year. read more