Sunday, November 24, 2019
Looking at this picture, which I took on Olga's walk yesterday morning, you can get a sense of why dogs (and other animals) evolved with spots. They're pretty effective camouflage. Doesn't she blend in with the urban jungle?
We had a fairly lengthy walk, around the nearby council estate and along the Black Path, and eventually to Fortune Green and the cemetery. It's a good thing we walked so much so early, because by the time we headed home, rain was coming down and it pretty much continued all day.
I found another interesting old bottle along the Black Path -- this one an Express Dairies milk bottle. I have no idea how old it is -- from some online research I learned that Express (which apparently no longer exists) used that E trademark for decades, from the '70s right into the early aughts. Here, for example, is a photo from 1978 showing trucks outside a loading dock all bearing that same logo. So I'd guess it's at least a couple decades old. It has joined the bottle parade on the kitchen windowsill.
Thanks for all your input on the mystery plant in yesterday's post. I've decided that it's borage. I was confused by that strong stalk with no basal leaves -- all the borage we have elsewhere in the garden has a bunch of leaves at the ground, with flower stalks rising up in spring. But here's what I realized during some late-night Googling: the plant I thought was borage, and which we have all over the garden, is actually green alkanet, a close relative. So the mystery plant, then, must be true borage.
I'm not sure it's going to survive for long in that pot, because apparently borage forms a taproot and doesn't do well in enclosed containers. But I'm going to let it go as long as I can, just to see what happens. The passionflower vine is mostly dormant now anyway, so I don't think it will suffer, and in spring we can pull out the borage and give the vine back its pot.
I spent almost all of yesterday afternoon reading "The Story of Harold" -- the book I suffered so much drama ordering from Amazon. I'm not sure it was worth it. It's kind of a yucky book, and George Selden's writing style -- with lots of asides, parentheticals, exclamations -- gets a bit exhausting. He was much more focused in his children's books, like "The Cricket in Times Square." I use the word "yucky" because "Harold," published in the early '70s, is definitely a dated expression of the free-love, swinger culture of the time, with a fair amount of vivid sexual adventurism. Like leisure suits and sideburns and key parties and Hai Karate, it seems kind of gross now.