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.
I have been pondering my digital footprint and to a degree my ultimate digital ghost. Mostly because of articles that I have read or heard in the media. To be honest I am quite baffled by the thinking. The blog is probably the deliberate ,majority of my footprint and ghost, but what do I know. What is done is probably done. Nature put my thoughts into perspective a little.
My digital and real-life shadow appears on the surprisingly small root system of a fallen oak tree. Discovered this morning on a dog walk. Maybe 300 years old, this tree was taken down by a recent storm. The old tree left a surprisingly shallow footprint.
Like me the tree has children.
So close their roots probably touched.
Do trees grieve a brutal loss in a storm? Do they have ghosts or worry about their footprint, real or digital.
Funny things to ponder on a lovely day in February. I sense my digital footprint is actually quite shallow. So no need to overthink things on a sunny day.
Is this timeline random?
I have no intention of creating a similar one , my girth and corresponding contemporary facts will forever remain a mystery. Or maybe it would be fun to try.
A greige Sunday with two colourless dog walks at either end of the day. But our evening walk was brightened by still water between the current fish market looking over to the old location which is now a thriving area of bars and nightclubs.
This is one of our favourite circular walks around all the commercial harbours. Almost never in the dark but there are plenty of lights and it is a safe enough area.
Here is another still water shot from November.
Fishing boat on the nightclub side. Bars on the Nightclub side.
Clearly I love still water and colour beats greige any day.
Being taken by surprise by February 1st gave us a curious Saturday morning of shuffling things around. The afternoon was rather greige so we set off to a favourite town. We arrived a bit late to visit the castle but by walking there we were propelled towards the back streets which I have not explored for more than 20 years when I worked here. The main streets were bustling with the tail end of a busy Saturday market.
17th or 18th Century Door Knocker
Rusty women became a little bit of a theme.
Encased in an air vent.
Our theme was just to enjoy walking the back streets looking at many centuries worth of lovely cottages on interlinked lanes and passages that spread like cobwebs from the Castle.
The castle dominates the town from its prominent hill as it was designed to do.
All our wandering was at dog pace. The peemails left by centuries of dogs always fascinate them in historic urban areas. But they are small dogs and we had been doing walking jobs with them all morning. The cafes in the High Street were calling the dogs but were all still buzzing at 4:00 or buzzed and already closed. But in a back street, we found this glorious turquoise paradise. Busy but not too busy.
We were on 10,000 human steps. Goodness knows how many dog steps. This cafe was one that Lola was not prepared to pass the door of. So happy was she to sit down and share a cheese scone that she agreed to a photogenic photograph.
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