A Final London Potpourri

On Saturday I wanted to play around with the photographic possibilities of our bathroom window, which is made of this funky, ripply glass. So I sent Dave outside, which was admittedly a lot to ask of a guy who hates to have his photo taken, on a day when the temperature was something like 40º F. As a consolation prize I asked him to take a houseplant so he could conceal the lower part of his face. He went, and I took a few shots, and then he came back inside and said in a mock-annoyed voice, "No more projects."

I'm sure it's a pain to live with an amateur photographer. Almost as much of a pain as living with a writer.

Yesterday, Olga and I went to Wormwood Scrubs for a long walk. We found that the woody, brambly copses in the center of the Scrubs, normally impenetrable, are much more accessible now that the leaves are gone and the summer plant life has died back. Olga went exploring in one and blended in quite well. The squirrels, however, weren't fooled.

I found someone's intriguing painted rock. I left it there -- maybe it was marking a place of significance.

On the way home, we passed this anonymous little business (I think?) with no signage except a reindeer in the window. It used to be a cafe. Maybe it's under renovation?

Back home, I bathed Olga, watered all our houseplants and noticed that a goldfinch was once again on the teasels in the garden -- Dave saw some early yesterday morning, too. I'm glad they're hanging around, and I'm so glad we left these teasels standing.

Dave and I had our own little Christmas celebration last night. We exchanged gifts -- I got a couple of nice shirts from, you guessed it, Selfridge's! (Dave knows me well.) Then we watched Dave's favorite movie, "Auntie Mame," in which Christmas figures prominently, and I packed for our trip. This morning Simone will pick up poor, unsuspecting Olga and we will depart.

Coming to you tomorrow from the other side of the Atlantic!