#1210 theoldmortuary ponders.

Following on from –

#1209 theoldmortuary ponders.

Aerial views with love involved.

The Heart Hospital and Barts

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.

#1209 theoldmortuary ponders.

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…

Watch this space.

#1208 theoldmortuary ponders.

The Chimney view at lift 109

It has been quite the week of nattering in the real world. My head is spinning from the snippets and gems of conversations I have had with work friends who become real-life friends. A fiftieth birthday and a retirement party in the same 48 hours were the source of my natterings.

Work friends are an interesting concept. Some slip away when jobs change others somehow transfer into longer term friendships.

Social media has helped me keep some of these friendships alive and relevant,for others there are personal connections.

I have observed the ex-colleagues from hell rarely feature at retirements or other informal gatherings of past work colleagues. Is there some other place where they all gather and share grief, gloom and gossip with as much  enthusiasm as lovely colleagues?

Even as I write this my head is laughing at the shockers I could put in my Reunion Room of undesirable colleagues. The threshold of which I would not cross.

And that is the beauty of time moving on. Lovely people remain lovely. While the less-than-lovely have their toxicity depleted and diminish over time to be irrelevant or laughable.

There may even be another reunion room for the blands. Those people who barely register on the workplace eco-system. I might cross that threshold, in case I missed a gem of a person while I was working or enjoying the company of the lovelies.

Catching up with the lovelies is a great way to spend 48 hours.

#1207 theoldmortuary ponders.

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.

No photo opportunity ever missed.

Aerial views in another blog later today.

#1206 theoldmortuary ponders.

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.

Let’s of see how this goes.

#1205 theoldmortuary ponders.

Is winter ebbing, with spring quietly edging? At the moment. I sense we are entering the scrag end of winter. Daylight hours have increased but temperatures are still challenging. Signs of spring are everywhere, yet the mud of winter pulls at my feet and marks my clothes. Me and mud have never been friends. Even the magical mystery mud of music festivals fails to charm me, the feint aroma of Medieval toilet systems does not enhance my experience. My childhood mud was mostly livestock mud from dairy farms or piggeries. At school we ran through the flat arable fields of the Essex countryside. Probably the purest mud of my experience but I didn’t love it.

And then just like that I remembered that one of my favourite views is actually a mudflat.

From which I must conclude that mud  charms me from a distance. I just don’t enjoy being in it. My apologies to mud for being such a grumpy guts.

#1204 theoldmortuary ponders.

Our morning walk gave us a familiar surprise in an unfamiliar place. We used to live in London where street stabbings were, not commonplace, but not unheard of.  Street memorials sometimes lasted years. Supermarket flowers and mementoes, kept fresh by friends and family.

Although we knew there had been a street stabbing on one of our dog walks it was a bit of a surprise to find an informal flower memorial to the person stabbed last month.

Sometimes the unexpected makes eyes a little blurry. As we returned people were tidying away the dying blooms. What a very sad job for anyone to have to do.

I just googled flowers as a memorial.

Google AI was succinct.

Blooming interesting . I had no idea.

#1203 theoldmortuary ponders.

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.

#1202 theoldmortuary ponders

Yesterdays ‘love’ blog was one of the least popular for a long time.  Just 15 readers registered on the WordPress stats page.

#1201 theoldmortuary ponders.

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.

https://open.substack.com/pub/theoldmortuary/p/longform-pondering?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=2zszs8 no

P.S

I love the description and the inappropriate location of the Mount Pleasant Wazzbaffle.

‘ Swollen and lichenous ‘

Wordporn at its best. Have a good weekend.

#1201 theoldmortuary ponders.

14th of February has been saturated with the colour red and messages of love for centuries. Specifically romantic love. I have always felt a bit uncomfortable with the whole day, specifically anonymous cards which always seemed a bit stalkerish. But recent years have seen the day gently eased from the grip of heteronormative love/lust to a day celebrating Love in many forms.

John Betjeman, a British poet, invented the word Topophilia. The love of place.

I am a Topophile. There are lists in my head of places that I love , places where I have a sense of connection and wonderment about.

The two pictures in this blog are either end of a short lane near where I live. They have visual beauty and the mystery of history coupled with an unpredictability  because their appearance is always shaped by tides, weather and human activity.

Love is love on Valentines Day.