Jump!

I woke up this morning with the Pointer Sisters' song "Jump" running through my head. Why this happened, I can't imagine. I've never owned the record, or any other Pointer Sisters records. I've never even liked the song. So what on earth, out of all the billions of songs in my brain, made my internal jukebox choose that one to begin the day?

We seem to be going through a bit of a cold snap all of a sudden. Nighttime temperatures on Monday and Tuesday are forecast to drop to 40º F (or 4.4º C). I'm hoping I didn't pot up all those dahlias a little too early. Apparently they hate being cold and wet, and we have a 50 percent chance of rain today and tomorrow.

Speaking of which, the freaking squirrels got into the dahlia pots yesterday and excavated several of them. They didn't dig up the bulbs but they sure made a mess. I had to redistribute the dirt and put some pottery shards and metal screening on top to keep them out. I do this every year. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I brought the Rhipsalis cactus back inside, after those little furry gray monsters reminded me how destructive they can be. No need to tempt fate there.

Having said that, the garden is still looking springlike. Our African daisies (Osteospermum) are blooming like crazy (top), as are...

...the forget-me-nots...

...the bluebells...

...and the camassia lilies. I just read on Wikipedia that camassias are related to asparagus and agaves. Who knew? Who even knew asparagus and agaves were related to each other? Biology is so strange.

Aside from shifting around more plants, I spent most of yesterday reading. I caught up on blogs and read more of my book, "The Haves and the Have-Yachts." I'm on a section that discusses a trend among the superrich to have pop stars come and perform at birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. Can you imagine? Apparently, for five million dollars, you can have the Rolling Stones come to your spacious back garden (or the appropriate venue of your choice) and sing to your spouse or mother-in-law. Rock and pop stars don't mind because they make a ton of money for a short, low-pressure gig, and the billionaires are willing to pay because what else are they going to do with their money?

You could not, however, have the original Pointer Sisters come and perform "Jump" for you, because only one of them is still alive. And she's 80, so she may not be jumping much anymore.

*Addendum: Actually, if she's like the woman in this article, she might be!

It's Dahlia Time, and Movie Music

I barely left the house yesterday, so here's another picture from my walk through Fulham on Wednesday. I thought that corner shop with the clock face was intriguing. Looks like it's for rent.

And here's a mystery. I passed a little plot of land off Colehill Gardens that was positively engulfed in weeds, but in among the weeds I could see chairs and benches. It looked like a small park or open space that had been allowed to run wild. Google Street View shows it 13 years ago as a cleared (if still rather viney) space containing tables and chairs. I wonder if it's a fenced garden belonging to the adjacent houses, or perhaps to a single owner, and they have simply chosen to let it be a wild space? On Wednesday the gates were locked and it looked like no one had been in there for a long, long time.

Here's our own garden, which looks only slightly less wild. Although I was home all day yesterday, I was working. My mission: to get the dahlias out of the shed and prepared for another growing season. Having inadvertently used lousy compost last year, I was determined to give them a better life this summer, so I bought new soil and repotted every single one of them. I also pulled apart and rinsed the tubers, and divided some of the plants so they'd have more room in their pots. Hence, we now have 13 pots containing dahlias, which is a completely insane number.

A lot of the tubers had rotted since I last examined them, which is strange. I don't know if I overwatered them last summer or if they got damp (or froze) in the shed over the winter, but in any case I clipped off all that rotten material when I repotted them. I didn't lose any entire plants, as far as I could tell.

It took a couple of hours and two trips to the hardware store for soil, but I finally got all that accomplished. Some of the tubers already have little sprouts emerging.

Dave and I also went on a houseplant cleanup binge. This started because we decided to get rid of a big, misshapen ZZ plant we had in the foyer. It wasn't looking too healthy and I've never liked it, because it was so heavy I could barely move it to clean. We lugged it outside, Dave chopped up the apparently diseased plant for the yard waste bin, and I put the still-heavy empty pot at the back of the garden with the proviso that whatever we put in it needs to be an outdoor plant in a permanent place. I am never moving that pot again.

Getting rid of the ZZ gave me access to the windowsill holding the Rhipsalis cactus (above), which I realized has a mealybug infestation. So I moved it out to the patio and rinsed it off. I'm planning to let it live outdoors for a while. That usually helps bring bugs under control.

I also moved a bunch of other plants outside for the summer -- two rubber trees, our big aloe, the gigantic yucca in our bedroom and the jade plant, which also has some kind of pest problem. I'm hoping some outdoor time gives them all a boost. I have been feeling a bit oppressed by the quantity of our indoor plants so this is a welcome change. I can actually access the dining room windowsill now, which needs a good cleaning of its own.

ISN'T THIS EXCITING?!?!?

What is exciting is my cosmos seeds are beginning to sprout! Woo hoo!

I also found another dead rat in the garden yesterday morning, which was very weird. Two rats in two days. I buried this one too. Is Pale Cat leaving us gifts? Is someone flinging them over our garden fence? Are they ingesting poison somewhere and coming here to die? I don't see one this morning, so hopefully that grim streak has now been broken.

Last night, aching from the day's exertion, Dave and I went to the Barbican for a performance. One of his students gave him a Barbican gift certificate for Christmas in 2024, and all last year we failed to use it. It actually expired, and when I realized that, I e-mailed the Barbican to plead for an extension, which they generously granted. One of my Spring Break goals was to use this freaking gift certificate, so I found a performance of movie and TV soundtrack music, part of the London Soundtrack Festival, and we went.

It was called "Homegrown Heroes -- From Bond to Thunderbirds." The first half was a collection of themes by various composers, performed by an orchestra of seasoned studio musicians, from well-known productions including "Wallace & Gromit," "Enola Holmes," "Atonement" and, indeed, "Thunderbirds." The second half was devoted to the work of composer David Arnold, and if you've seen movies such as "Independence Day," "Godzilla" or "Stargate," not to mention Bond films including "Quantum of Solace," "Casino Royale" and "Tomorrow Never Dies," then you've heard Arnold's music. He was actually there, receiving an award, which was an interesting and unanticipated brush with fame. Not that I shook his hand or anything.

Oh, and apologies to those of you who have apparently been counting down and thought yesterday was my last day of work. I'm actually on Spring Break this week, so my countdown has been paused. Work begins again on Monday, but only for three days -- next Wednesday is my final day before blissful retirement.

Still Not Dying, Plus Books

I did go get a private x-ray yesterday morning, and in fact I have the results already: Normal. That is what I wanted to hear from the hospital on Tuesday, not this "it-takes-us-28-days-to-read-it" baloney. I know it sounds crazy, given that I'd had clear scans just a few years ago, but I've been having a lot of congestion and shortness of breath and I was worried -- not least because a friend of mine just died from lung cancer last week.

I probably shouldn't go irradiating my lungs anymore or this will become a self-fulfilling prophecy, but at least I know that for now, all is well. (My heart is also fine.)

After I got the x-ray, I took a walk through Hammersmith and Fulham, all the way down to the Thames. Fulham Palace Road, which runs past Charing Cross Hospital and the park surrounding the Bishops' Palace, isn't the most scenic road in the world but I found a few decent photos.

Those of you who read Mr. Pudding's blog will recognize this bookshop, which he posted about a couple of months ago. I had never been there, though I'd ordered a book from them online, so I made sure to find it when I was in the neighborhood. It's surprisingly tucked away but I eventually figured out its location. I did not go inside because at the moment I need another book like I need a hole in the head, but maybe after I'm retired and caught up on all my reading (does that ever happen?) I'll check it out more thoroughly.

All those books piled outside the windows -- lots of travel guides and paperback novels -- are on sale for a pound apiece. I think they stay outside, covered by tarps. There's no way the owner moves them in and out every night.

The books in the windows look more collectible. I'm sure this shop must do a lot of business online, like many booksellers these days. That little shop is so packed that it's a bit intimidating to a casual shopper. (It was to me, anyway!)

After I came back home, I finished my own library book, "Flashlight," at long last. I enjoyed it but it took me forever to read so I'm glad it's finally off my plate. I've started a new one by Evan Osnos, "The Haves and the Have-Yachts," about multibillionaires and the increasingly unequal distribution of the world's wealth, which looks interesting and possibly enraging.

I worked a bit in the garden, and found a dead rat mysteriously lying beneath one of our trees. It didn't look mangled, just dead. I buried it for fear it had eaten poison somewhere, in which case I didn't want some bird or fox to ingest it.

Last night we watched the Huw Edwards movie from Channel 5, which several other bloggers mentioned. I enjoyed it, if one can enjoy such a troubling story. You just gotta wonder what that guy was thinking. I mean, if you're having secret gay fantasies and looking for a way to explore those, there are plenty of perfectly legal channels online, available at a keystroke. How does one go from garden-variety twink porn to communicating with (and paying off) teenagers? Astonishing.

Here's my favorite recent New Yorker cartoon:

Sidewalk Bouquet and Hoarder Fishing

I had some medical errands to run yesterday. I've been having trouble with coughing and occasional breathlessness once again, with no obvious cause. In the past I've believed these conditions to be related to gastro-esophageal reflux (GERD, or GORD as it's called in England, because "oesophagus" here begins with an O). But my usual GERD treatment doesn't seem to be having any effect, so I went to the doctor in the morning, and she wanted me to get some standard blood tests and a new chest x-ray.

After seeing her, I walked straight over to the Royal Free Hospital, where I got the x-ray done lickety split. But then the technician told me the results won't be reported for 28 days! Apparently they have quite a backlog. That seems crazy to me, particularly if something bad is going on. (I may get my own private x-ray today, which will report results in about 24 hours. They're not expensive.)

On the way to the hospital I passed these ruffly camellias lying on the pavement -- a sort of springtime sidewalk bouquet.

I also passed this nice wooden basket sitting by the rubbish bins in front of an apartment building. I think it's a baby basket, like a bassinet? It's really nice and if I needed a basket or could think of anything to use it for, I'd have taken it. (And also if I hadn't been on my way to the hospital, because I couldn't very well carry that thing along.) Anyway, I left it there.

As I said, I also needed blood tests. They had to be scheduled, and the soonest the Royal Free could do them was April 20. But I found that Barnet Hospital, in far north London, could do them right away. I made an afternoon appointment there. That left me with several hours to kill, so I did some photo walking.
 

Remember this decrepit shop? I first photographed it way back in 2011, and then blogged about it in 2020. It has grown gradually more and more sad-looking over the years. When I first saw it, it was actually open. In 2020 it seemed somewhat operational, perhaps on a restricted basis because of Covid.

Well, now there are no signs of life. The "Fishing" sign is gone, one of the windows in front is broken and the inside is a wreck. (Never mind the building itself, which judging from the condition of those upstairs windows is pretty much open to the weather and the pigeons. You can't really tell, but there are two of them sitting in the upper right window.)

Here's the interior, shot through the window. I suppose someone could still be doing business in there, but it's hard to tell. That area toward the rear, through that low doorway, is just piled with stuff. It's a fishing shop for the TV show "Hoarders."

Anyway, having checked that out, I caught the tube from Chalk Farm all the way up to Edgware (which you may recall I visited several months ago). I stopped in at a Wendel's bakery there and bought their lunch deal -- drink, sandwich and snack for something like £5. I got a cheese sandwich ("no mayo," the label helpfully reported) and it was the most tasteless thing I've ever eaten. I ate it sitting on a wall in front of the Edgware public library. At least I got to enjoy the day if not the food.

Then I caught a bus to Barnet Hospital, where I had my blood drawn. Afterwards I wandered around the high street in Chipping Barnet, which I'd hoped might make for some good photography, but I wasn't all that impressed. Just a bunch of chain stores and modern shopfronts, for the most part.

The S&M Local was mildly funny. Whips and chains?

I caught two buses all the way back to West Hampstead, where I made a martini and caught Dave up on the adventures of the day, and he, in return, informed we that we had not yet started bombing the heck out of Iran. (And still haven't, apparently, given Trump's last-minute reprieve.) If our objective is regime change, how does bombing the country help? Seems like that pretty much unites the entire populace against us. Destroying bridges and power stations will not win us hearts and minds.

A Fine Spring Day

Yesterday was about as nice a day as we could possibly want. A bit cold, perhaps, but sunny and bright. It drew everyone outdoors like a magnet. This was the high street in the early afternoon, when I took a walk around the neighborhood for some exercise.

I walked down a nearby street where, in February 2018, a house collapsed while it was under renovation. What didn't collapse was eventually torn down, and although I believe there were plans to rebuild (which I haven't heard anything about in years), so far there's still just a big gap in the street, with the two adjacent buildings supported by some temporary beams. Here's the original story on a local news blog, with links to more photos and coverage.

Free chairs, anyone? Kind of fun! If we needed chairs I might have taken them. They're a bit battered but they have character.

Some brilliant tulips were growing along this fence on the street, along with some euphorbia.

Fair warning -- this is probably what my blog is going to be from here on out, now that I'm retiring: "Here's what I saw on the street today." Do not expect any deep philosophizing.

I forgot to mention that I did get some seeds planted on Sunday. I planted six sunflowers in a seed tray, and five more in some big pots at the side of the house. (Probably too many for those pots, which already contain a few other things, to be honest.) I also planted a tray of zinnias and some cosmos. I'm keeping the cosmos indoors on the windowsill for now, but I'm hoping the others will sprout just fine outdoors, despite our chilly nights. (It's 47º F out there now, or 8.3º C, at almost 8 a.m.)

I've almost finished "Flashlight" -- I should polish it off today, finally. I also archived all my photos yesterday, which always takes time -- culling the ones I don't want and saving the rest to my portable disk drive. It's nice to have it done.

I can tell the world is waking up because I've already begun my summer ritual of rescuing insects that blunder into the house. I keep a little drinking glass and a notecard on the end table next to the couch, and when a bee or hoverfly comes in and I hear them buzzing and thumping against the windows, I pop the glass over the insect and slide the card beneath it, and transport the critter back outside. I had to do it twice yesterday already!

First Butterfly, Figs and Foxes

I spent yesterday cleaning the house and working in the garden, among other things. I saw my first butterfly of the year, a cabbage white (above). It seemed to want to land on light-colored leaves or flowers, like the Turkish sage leaves above, which are covered with whitish fuzz. I suppose the butterfly is trying to blend in. Nesting birds are probably hungry!

I mowed the lawn, and afterwards Dave and I sat on the garden bench. "We'd be crazy to ever move from here," Dave said, and I agreed, taking in our little urban oasis. I happened to look up and notice...

...that our fig tree has figs on it! This is also a first for us. I didn't expect to see them this early in the spring and I'm a little confused about the timetable, but hey, I'll take it. They're all out at the very ends of the branches, and I don't know if that's because they grow that way or the squirrels have already nibbled them off branches closer to the center of the tree. I'm not sure we'll ever get to taste them ourselves, our wildlife being ravenous, but it's still exciting.

Remember when I found that fig tree ten years ago, discarded in a pot down on the high street, its roots having been cut off? It wilted and looked terrible and I potted it up and hoped for the best, and now it's in the ground and about 20 feet tall. And bearing figs!

I went up to Waitrose at lunchtime to buy some soup, and as usual I checked out their plants. These sad-looking foxgloves were on sale, and since we don't have any foxgloves this year I took the plunge and bought them. I think the two on the right will be fine, but the one on the left is iffy.

On the way home, I happened to pass my neighbor down the street, a 79-year-old guy who's quite talkative. I walked back with him, and he told me about his achy bones and his physical therapy. "I hope you didn't pay for those," he said, pointing at my plants. I assured him I'd gotten a deal, but I think he still thought I'd been had.

I planted them all, so we'll see how they do.

I downloaded the garden cam, and produced this rather spacious and meandering video, which I think has answered the question of how many foxes we have.
-- We begin with the fox I'm calling Arrow, because it has an arrowhead- or dagger-shaped tail. It seems young. It finds something to eat among the bluebells, who knows what.
-- We then see, in quick succession, two more foxes, one with a long, crooked tail and one with a white-tipped tail. I'm pretty sure these are the three vulpine denizens of our garden. (Check out the screen cap of their tails below for comparison, and I think you'll see what I mean.) I'm not sure if these are still Q-Tip and/or Guy Fox, the animals I was seeing last year. I suppose I could go back and compare with earlier videos but I haven't done that yet.
-- At 0:50, you hear the construction crew next door as they disassemble the huge scaffold that's been covering our neighbor's house.
-- At 1:10, a bird (robin?) is once again trying to perch on the camera.
-- At 1:22, we have a nice sunny, peaceful view with some wind. I thought it captured the spirit of our garden well.
-- At 1:42, a squirrel nibbles something and seems curious about the camera (but doesn't quite get there).
-- At 2:02, you get a good view of the crooked-tailed fox. There's a lot of back-and-forth exploring.
-- At 2:52, a little robin perches on a rose and then flies into the shrubbery.
-- At 3:12, I put down some chicken skin from dinner, which the foxes promptly eat.
-- Pale Cat appears at 5:17, a day before I saw him sitting on that gatepost a couple of streets away.
-- Crooked Tail prowls around again, followed at 6:08 by another nibbling squirrel. I wonder what it's eating?
-- At 6:24, Arrow is back, followed at 6:48 by Crooked Tail, whose name I have established in the process of writing this post. (Remember these visits are actually hours apart.)
-- At 7:03, we see Crooked Tail apparently unconcerned as a helicopter flies overhead, probably either the police or an air ambulance. Ah, urban life!

Fox tail identifier: L to R, Arrow, white-tipped tail, Crooked Tail

I'm not setting up the garden cam this week because we'll be out there a lot and I don't want a ton of footage of us!

The Cemetery and Storm Dave

I spent yesterday morning doing stuff around the house, and by early afternoon I was ready to get out and about. I decided to walk up to the cemetery, where I hadn't been in a while. Going there always makes me think of Olga but that isn't a bad thing. I made some coffee in my travel mug and brought it with me.

I found this little rocking horse outside the church on the corner. I texted Dave a photo. "No," he wrote back. (Although I do love my rocking unicorn, I actually wouldn't have taken this one -- not only because I don't need it, but also because it's upholstered. I don't mind picking up hard furniture but upholstery gives me the willies. It was gone when I walked past again a little later.)

The wood anemones are just starting to bloom. They seem a bit behind this year. I'm pretty sure they typically have more blossoms by this time in April.

It felt good to walk the paths that I used to take at least once a week with Olga. I'm sure I've photographed this familiar monument before -- it's lying flat on the ground, having long ago fallen over.

This crabapple tree is in fine form. Technically it's an Asiatic apple (Malus spectabilis), according to my plant identifier. I would have just said crabapple, but whatever.

I've always found this an interesting (and sad) headstone. My first thought, upon reading it, was that Stebbing must have been much older than his wife Ada, who lived for almost forty years after the death of her husband. But in fact he was only eight years older. She just lived an incredibly long time.

Their son, Jackie, is memorialized on this page at the web site of the military cemetery in Belgium where he is buried. There's even a picture of him. He died of wounds "received before Comines," which probably means the offensive to liberate Comines from the Germans in late September 1918. Such an incredible tragedy, all those boys on both sides, killing each other in drives to recapture or defend a couple of miles of territory. It must have been devastating for Jackie's parents -- a story repeated hundreds of thousands of times across England in those years.

Last night we had some really intense winds and spattery rain, I assume related to Storm Dave (a name which, of course, greatly amuses my Dave). I got up in the middle of the night and saw the avocado on its side on the patio, but I waited until this morning to lift it back into place. It had minimal damage -- a clump of leaves broke off but otherwise it seems fine.

I guess this is a sign that it has once again outgrown its pot, which seemed huge when I repotted it a couple of years ago. I'm not sure where to go from here. Maybe we should just put it in the ground. The only reason to keep it in a pot was to be able to move it inside if necessary, but it's too big for that now anyway.