'An impossible game of cultural whack-a-mole', 24 hours in London's West End was a work of art in itself

Every shop seems full, the bright lights of the multitude of theatres invite tourists and Londoners alike for a few hours of live performances, and there are more art galleries than anywhere in the country.

The hustle and bustle on the pavement never ends, it could be a star rushing to a stage door, tourists craning their neck at the buildings boasting bygone riches or a protestor heading to Trafalgar Square with a megaphone (the son of deposed self styled King of Kings The Shah of Iran's son was rewriting history from a tent on this particular Saturday).

The sheer amount of theatres, stage doors, inviting displays, names up in lights and productions on at any one time shows this corner of London's artistic output dwarfs all of the other UK' art scenes put together.

And it is not just the familiar brand names which endlessly tour the country, each time with stars who made their name on ever more obscure channels but the edgy productions which could earn the turn a wonderous review or the director a one way ticket to Am-Dram, which is so impressive about Theatreland.

Though it has some of the most expensive real estate in the world there are a surprising amount of free things to do. Whether it be jugglers, fire swallowers, unicyclist, magicians and singers vying for the attention and the spare change (or contactless payment) of the wandering masses. All these are cheek and jowl to multi-million pound Masters hanging in world class galleries including the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery. Art of London is attempting to catalogue all the cultural goings on in the centre of London, it is like a giant game of Wack-a-Mole so many art inspired experiences happen in one day. But their aspiration is create a "gallery without walls" crammed full of organic cultural events, which people can find on their phones, but if it is staring at actual art on walls, that's covered too.

In Amsterdam and so many other major cities the museums and galleries cost money to wander round but not in London, they are free to see.

In the National Portrait Gallery, the great and the good stare down with the kind of self-regard those who are famous enough to be painted all seem to have. As you walk through the history of our country, most of the rooms are full of ruddy cheeked white men, wearing make up and literally 'big wigs' - a status symbol back in the day. The descriptions of those looking down on us, which they probably did to everyone in their day, alluded to slavery funded fortunes without the condemnation deserved. My mixed race mrs could not get out of there quick enough.

The 20th Century rooms include the then modern phenomenon of photographs. The contrast between a moment captured in time and a painting created under pain of death which took months due to the sitter asking for extra angels on the chaise lounge, is fascinating. But the history of our country is told through our people, with truly pivotal pictures on display. The over-flattering portrait of Henry VIII's fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, just shows how far we have come in the centuries since heads could roll, kingdom's start wars and millennium lasting religions splintered all on an artist portrayal of a young lady. Imagine how many wives H8 would have gone through if he had Tinder and filters?

It was slim pickings looking for local faces in the first few floors, besides the Shropshire ruffian whose blood lust and brass balls turned him into the history-altering, empire building, super-oligarch of his day - Clive of India.

Thankfully the 20th Century rooms showed what a great varied diverse country we have become. After searching and failing to spot any Black Country greats over three floors it was lovely to know our Denis Lewis and Goldie are in there repping Wolverhampton.

The other side of the sprawling cathedral to art is the National Gallery, currently creating queues round the block is an exhibition of arguably our greatest living artist David Hockney: A Longer Look. Housing a vast collection of over 2,300 paintings dating from the mid-13th century to the early 20th century. Located in Trafalgar Square, the gallery showcases masterpieces by artists such as Van Gogh, Da Vinci, and Turner. Opened in 1824, it is free to the public.

A Longer Look includes two masterpieces by David Hockney (born 1937) that feature Piero della Francesca’s The Baptism of Christ (probably about 1437–45) alongside the original Renaissance painting until October 27. Just as hip hop artists were inspired and borrowed from their predecessors so have artists through the ages, this exhibition is a great example.

Not far away is The British Museum, one of the greatest in the world, and home to Elgin's Marbles, which sooner or later Greece will get back due to the dubious manner they were brought to the UK. Then again, that could be said for a lot of the gear in there. But, every person who sees and learns something about great civilisations which proceeded our own, helps the museum's raison d'être - its accessibility is the reason why this treasure trove of culture and history is best in one place. And it is totally free. However, the light-fingered manager who stole artefacts and blatantly sold them on Ebay might be another reason to see the collection before it literally vanishes.

But, the West End is also famous for people having a good time, just look how shattered the Cupid who stands on one foot in the fountain at Picadilly Circus, looks. Albert Schloss, first opened its doors in Manchester, then Birmingham and is now trying to crack one of the globes most competitive hospitality markets with its sprawling Shaftesbury Avenue pleasure palace. Opening this summer the Beer Haus with combination of German beers, schnapps, sausages and live music is already a hit with locals and tourists alike. The place was packed at 7pm with revellers dancing on the tables enjoying the house band's blend of sing-a-long American classics and Rock n Roll.

The selection of beers is a drinker's dream and they come in oversized glasses, the huge Pilsner vats and pipes show the stuff is a central part of their appeal. And, you don't need to take a mortgage to buy a round. Watching the friendly bar staff work proved their main job is to keep the customers lubricated, everyone around us, including myself received a free drink at some stage. Their black cherry schnapps is a thing of beauty.

There is every kind of cuisine within a square mile, and it is easy to spot where is hot with queues forming outside the most unassuming of shop frontages. But, I was not bothered about Instagraming my nosh, I just wanted fed without forking out the equivalent of a monthly shop. Southern Soul Food was always going to hit the spot. New Orleans being my favourite place on earth, I was happy find a soul food restaurant, with live music.

Americana had enough Americans in to trust their food, we had a drink first before deciding to eat, and none of the Yanks complained about their food, or bill. Which was a good sign as was the smells coming from the open kitchen.

Louisiana staple Gumbo was on the menu, traditionally a Saturday style stew, this incarnation had pork, chicken and enough chillies and peppers for the right amount of kick. The lady had chicken which with one bite took me back to the Bayou. I had the 12 hour Texas red brisket chilli for the main, thinking it would come out whole but it had been mixed in a pot of all sorts, it was so filling I could not finish it. And I had food envy for the lady's Cajun salmon which thankfully she was too full to finish which let me jump in, I also needed space for the knickerbockerglory afterwards.

We wandered off into the night, into the throng of humanity, delighted to know we only had a short walk to Charing Cross Road to our hotel, the Assembly Rooms. Clean and quirky. Well quirky as in a wacky corporate thinker, each room has its own massive pink rabbit, and the bedboards had straps and pink neon messages adorned the walls.

The roof garden was so popular we never made it beyond the welcome desk. However, though it is a garden on a roof, the various bottomless lunches have to be enjoyed behind glass, which might be perfect during the winter.

Assembly guests included Taylor Swift fans who were in town to see their idol at Wembley and families in London to see the sights. There was no television in the room, or kettle, but the greatest quality of the Assembly Rooms was its location. Why go to the epicentre of London if you are going to stay in your room. However, it is worth checking who is playing Wembley before you book any hotel in the capital, ours was £200 more than other dates when Swifties were not descending on the city. Hotel rooms rocketed when Oasis announced their dates, some by over £300 in a matter of hours.

It was great to pop back to for a change or if we forgot something, all whilst one of the great cities was alive just outside. The pubs of London rival anywhere, whether it be Mr Fogg's with its Napoleon era decor with a tear jerking tale about its origin, involving a last will and testament. I believed it until ten seconds ago when I found their website, boasting of several outlets. Alleyways with footstep worn pavements which have helped the worse for wear stagger in the right direction are ten a penny in this part of the smoke, take a walk down one, you could find another pub or an artisan map purveyor.

The White Lion in Covent Garden had patrons singing their hearts out to a guitarist who they treated like a star on our Saturday night, and he could have been for all I know. The Nags Head opposite, which has history dripping off the world from bygone eras of boozing, is another proper pub which is an Oasis for those being dragged round the shops by their other half. Covent Garden market has everything from Apple to the Apple Market, and the perfect place to watch the world go by is on the balcony of a pub named after everyone's favourite toxic relationship couple, The Punch and Judy.

After one final pint, we were ready to head home, obviously the London Tube leg of the journey was like clockwork, but Euston looked like a refugee camp for the hungover. All trains to Brum and beyond were delayed, and we were on the London Midland service which has two pages worth of stations to stop out during two and a half hours without beverages. However, like the tortoise and the hare, our slow service beat all the cancelled and delayed fast Avanti West Coast services.

We got home eventually but our journey gave us plenty of time to talk about all the sights, sounds, experiences and productions we totally missed in the West End.

After all, the West End is not going anywhere is it?