In the summer we raised the height of our perimeter wall to deter the cats, chickens( and their associated r**s) from our neighbours city backyard crossing into our yard. The deterrent has largely worked until a new creature was added to their menagerie. He bounces onto our garage and balances along stone walls. A rabbit with Olympic skills in high jump and escapology. He has been rescued from the back lane and a local car park. This week he may have made his final escape. He has been missing for four days. His last rescue attempt on Tuesday evening when he was returned to gis own back yard. A rabbit with the 9 lives of his cat companions. Maybe this weekend he turned left and joined the Nuns who run Nazareth House just a hop and a skip from his home.
But for now, no more Olympic Bunny. But if you ever see a handsome rabbit in a wimple and a sturdy pair of shoes…
What a gift to a love of places blog, is a workplace called The Heart Hospital, under the small arrow. So much love for many of the people I worked with there, who are now spread around the world. Love for Marylebone the London village where it was located. Love also for Selfridge’s on Oxford Street which was always on the way home. A corner shop to beat all corner shops. The big arrow is Barts Hospital. The location of my seventeen-year-old self starting a career and also where I finished my professional life 43 years later. An unplanned circularity which is strangely satisfying.
The next picture is looking south to our London ‘home’s’. Dulwich Village, Brixton,Gipsy Hill and Crystal Palace. The greige makes them impossible to point out, but trust me they are there.
Similarly, on a greige day my daughter’s home village of Wimbledon is lost in the mist.
As is the destination of Harrow-on-the-Hill where my son began his international teaching career below the red arrow.
The large green space which is also below the red arrow on the north riverbank is the Chelsea Hospital, home of the Chelsea Flower Show.
And so to conclude my day trip to London. The Shard and the man we surprised there, photographed from Lift 109 at Battersea Power Station. The Shard is on the horizon above his head.
Farewell London Day trip.
Fortunately art can create colour out of greige.
And our friends got giddy and bright after we left. An evening with Abba while we sat on a train.
I was unsure if I could squeeze another blog out of our midweek trip to London. Not because we didn’t have a great time and the usual laughs with our friends but because our photographs from high up places,The Shard and Battersea Power Station, were, like the weather, somewhat greige.
But first with feet firmly at ground level some serendipity.
While organising ourselves and the Shard security to enable us to execute the ‘surprise’* element of our trip we spent a lot of time in the reception area, watching the moving floral photo opportunity. Countless people had their photos taken against the colourful display.
The mirrors and neon ‘love’ signs were constantly moving, reflecting the flowers and lights so the display was intriguing.
In a rare moment with no humans about I took a picture of the assemblage. This morning I discovered that I had unintentionally created a self portrait.
This gave me the poke I needed to explore our greige aerial cityscapes inspired by the word love, not in the romantic sense.
But I can show you the aerial view of places I love or love to blog about when I am in London. With luck the WordPress algorithm will link this blog to others written about the same places.
Tower Bridge.
I have loved Tower Bridge all my life. Small me could never have imagined her older self driving over this bridge at night for the on-call journey. South London to the City. An extra bit of love because the Dad of a friend used to operate the bridge for his job. How cool is that? Also in this picture the Tower of London. Ten year old me fainted there once when listening to a grizzly tale of public executions. Nothing compares to the fear I felt coming round in a mediaeval building surrounded by concerned men in very fancy uniforms.
Borough Market and Southwark Cathedral
Look for the semi-circular space just above the end of the blue pool. Bustle and serenity. I have shared time at Borough and the cathedral with so many friends and family. A wonderful part of London to love.
Borough Market.
And just like that a 2-year-old arrived !! To be continued…
Did the surprise, surprise. Yes it did. Even though we were doing it in an hotel with airport level security. So it took engagement with and the help of security men and a receptionist. What was fascinating and charming was that several hours later the same staff were interested to talk to us and discover if the surprise was a successful and happy outcome for all of us.
Planning surprises always have a degree of jeopardy, that is what makes them great when they work out.
This set of surprises had all of us with our feet not on solid ground for most of the day. Lunch and a hotel room in London’s highest building and then a trip up a Chimney at Battersea Power Station. 10,000 steps on the ground but many trips in funky lifts.
Today starts with a vintage railway poster and an early start. This is the end of the ‘ big birthday’ season, celebrating birthdays with an 0 with friends in interesting places. On this occasion we are the birthday surprise, so this will be published once we have revealed ourselves.
We are heading to floor 37 of the Shard, where I will be able to overlook my former workplace, which was just behind St Paul’s Cathedral.
Like all the big ‘0’ birthdays there has been much planning and some subterfuge. The denouement could be ruined by an overzealous hotel receptionist not allowing us to boldly walk up to a gentleman s bedroom door fearing that we are some unusually attired ‘ ladies of the night’. We will, of course, actually and accurately be ladies or indeed, women of the early morning.
The Crocuses have put their heads above the leaf mulch and mud.
Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?
Mid-February before I feel the urge to write a prompted blog. But I discussed this matter only yesterday in the real world of random conversations.
I am not particularly patriotic. I love where I live, on an island off the coast of mainland Europe. But equally I love Europe. I was not a Brexiter. I sense I could make a home wherever I washed up and was welcome.
I like the rhythm of my life, because I have a fortunate one. So I am grateful for my English life but not to the point of ever wearing a flag of any sort or getting misty-eyed over our National Anthem or international sport. So I guess I am not a true patriot.
But I am an enthusiast for life, wherever I am and the crocuses yesterday made me feel joy in a muddy place. Yesterday was a two outfit day, caused entirely by damp dog walks in landscape that seemed weary and overwhelmed by the wetness of winter. But the gem like colours of crocuses pushing their heads through mud and leaf mulch were a happy find. Crocuses are flowers of late winter and early spring. Just fabulous news from nature.
Perhaps most regular readers were out loving life rather than reading my words, which is much the better option.
This morning brought me a Wazz baffle from The Londonist. One of my favourite reads.
Wazzbaffles have long intrigued me. I worked in the City of London for a long while and Wazzbaffles were quite the thing as an architectural feature. Similarly, opposite our home in Cornwall, the local church has wazzbaffles in the architectural corners between the church and the local pub.
Wazzbaffles were a large part of a conversation I had a few weeks ago with a group of friends who had never realised that historic parts of most old towns and villages have these things.
The point of today’s blog is twofold. I can natter on about a weird little fact and hopefully whoever I was talking to will see this and realise that I wasn’t talking nonsense. Because I have forgotten exactly who I was talking to a few weeks ago.
Low stats and forgetting the exact members of a conversation three weeks ago are linked.
I mever know, exactly, who reads my blogs and that is actually a huge part of the joy. In real life I sometimes forget who I have had which conversation with. I take no joy in this and see forgetfulness as an irritation and a disservice to my friends.
But how lucky am I to have so many conversations in different formats that they get jumbled, misaligned and partially forgotten. Even more lucky because I consider myself to be not the most outgoing person in any room.
Anyway non-outgoing me is dipping my nattering toes into Substack. Every now and then I will ponder my ponders. Nothing much to see there yet but here is the link.
What a difference a week makes. Last week I was happy to have created an image that shows rainfall on a February Day. Yesterday someone was brutally attacked, at night near the bandstand and this location is currently swathed in police tape.
I immediately feel differently about an inanimate object that was created for pleasure, and wished I had represented the bandstand more joyfully. I suppose rain and bad people are inevitable in life. The impact of negativity always seems to leave a disproportionate mark on landscape and our minds. When the police tape is gone I will go and take another photo and make sure I create something that reflects the joy that this structure deserves.
Sunday morning and a gift of church bells, should you choose to watch the video above.
Today’s ponder was seeded in my head by the smallest of coincidences. Saturday found us on a back street walk at Ashburton, a market town on the edge of Dartmoor. We were pulled in the direction of the church by the bells ringing. On the way I caught sight of this blue plaque.
When we arrived in the churchyard we saw a small crowd of beautifully dressed wedding guests having a cheeky last minute smoke before going into the church.
Something Sir Walter, despite being entirely responsible, would never have seen during his stay in Ashburton. Smoking tobacco was only an upper class habit in England until the late 19th century and did not become commonly used by all of society until the end of the Industrial Revolution.
And with a delicious coincidence, there is a mural of Sir Walter actually pondering, overlooking the pub where he spent his last night of freedom. Before being locked up for twelve years in the Tower of London.
His ponders must have been far more consequential than mine ever are.
Not pissing off James 1st might have been a good thing to ponder. And after 12 years in jail and 3 years of freedom, not pissing off James 1st a second time would have been a prudent ponder in my humble opinion.
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