Sunday, December 16, 2018
Ye Olde Blackbirde
This is a pub in Swiss Cottage, a neighborhood to the south of us. It's called, appropriately, Ye Olde Swiss Cottage. It's just about the only thing in Swiss Cottage that looks even vaguely Swiss. Otherwise, the area is a snarl of traffic and bus lines and major roadways. The pub, in fact, is on what's essentially a big traffic island, along with a cinema, a block of flats and some other small businesses. I've never been inside, but the exterior looks especially nice in the spring and summer, when there's outdoor seating and the place is festooned with flowers.
Simone did come to take Olga yesterday, but we had some confusion over the time. She eventually showed up about 10 a.m., long after I thought she'd be here, and I had trouble calling or texting her, which was strange. But once she arrived everything was fine and Olga happily went on her walk, and we're supposedly on for Simone to collect Olga for dog-sitting tomorrow morning, early. I'm a little apprehensive because we need to get out of here to catch a plane. Fingers crossed!
I got some more Christmas shopping done yesterday. I took a walk along our high street and popped into the bookshop, the cookware store, the chocolate shop (yes, there is one!) and even one of the thrift stores, and I got everyone taken care of. And I supported our local merchants, which I really wanted to do.
I also made reservations at a high street restaurant that Dave and I have been wanting to try, called HAM. There's a horizontal line above the A -- a character I can't seem to create on this keyboard -- and we've always wondered how to pronounce it. Is it "ham" like the meat, or "hame," or something in between? So we asked last night, when we went for dinner, and it's apparently "hom," more or less. Anyway, it was an enjoyable evening and although we thought the food was consistently under-seasoned it was otherwise very good. Just bring your own salt and pepper.
This morning when I got up a blackbird was singing away on the street outside our flat. I stepped outside to record it. It was still dark and I was reminded of the Beatles song, even though it was the cusp of dawn and thus not quite the "dead of night." Still, I suspect Sir Paul must have been inspired by hearing a similar bird on his street, back in the days of Swinging London.