NOTTING HERE

Call it the Curse of Hugh Grant.

Make no mistake, Notting Hill is a perfectly lovely neighborhood. But I think the movie of the same name has brought the place more attention than it can handle. On weekends, it's absolutely swarming with people, making it difficult to appreciate its charms as you trade elbows with seekers of the House with a Blue Door. Notting Hill's annual carnival has also become so huge that police are enforcing curfews for the first time ever, and residents actually head board their houses and flee from the oncoming masses. A shame, really, because I think if you hang around long enough, Notting Hill will win you over. Just like Hugh.

Indeed, a trip down the famous Portobello Road follows the usual story arc of Mr. Grant's movies.

Act One: Hugh first appears onscreen, seems like a cad.

As you first exit Notting Hill Gate station, you are taken aback by the number of people and how frenzied the area is. It doesn't help settle things that the first few shops seem to be pricey (yet crowded) fashionista places. Can a leading lady fall for this sort of thing?

(The LLDD-Hyphen-L yells in the background "yes, yes she can; you had me at overpriced fashion." Wrong chick flick reference but, ok, we'll see)

Act Two: It hasn't been easy, but Hugh's redeeming qualities are coming to fore, one eye-flutter at a time.

Further down Portobello Road, Notting Hill's treasures unfold. Mind you, it's still a bumpy ride. The movie itself pokes fun at the "antiques" of dodgy variety, and I suspect some of the "collector's items" there are only collected by pretentious types who want to be able to say they bought stuff at Notting Hill (even though the things are available elsewhere at a cheaper price). Nonetheless, the sheer variety of things on display is a joy to behold, made even better by the friendliness of the sellers and shop-keepers. No Ya Show arm-grabbing melodrama here; just straight up romantic comedy.

Act Three: Hugh makes you go "awwww"

Or in this case, "mmmmmm." As you approach the end of Portobello Road, the food stalls and market emerge. If you didn't feel good about visiting Notting Hill before, you do now. Even though we knew it wasn't the correct sequence, the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I went with the fudge brownie, fruit crepe and spicy seafood trilogy. Strangers would come up to us as we ate on the sidewalk and ask where we got our food. Because our mouths were always full, we would just nod in the general direction. Or flutter our eyes. We were just some dorks, standing in front of some shrimp, asking it to love us.

Not a bad ending at all.

(well, actually, the end of Portobello Road is a bunch of "Identikit" franchises; just write that off as cinematic symbolism for how Hugh's movies always end the same way)