Finally, FINALLY, a zinnia is making its appearance! It's taken a couple of months for the plants to get big enough to bloom -- when I look back at how tiny they were when I first planted them out, I guess that's not surprising.
We've actually done OK when it comes to seedling survival. I lost three zinnias almost right away, all to slugs, but two more zinnias, my four sunflowers and my cosmos have grown well. I planted an additional two zinnias a bit later that also seem fine. So we should have some more flowers coming up.
Dave and I went all the way down to Greenwich yesterday -- basically the opposite end of London -- to have lunch with our friends Mike and Sally, who live down that way. We hadn't seen them in more than a year, and before that it had been two years, so we really need to get better about spending more time together. Three of the four of us are retired now, so maybe that will help!
Anyway, we had lunch at the local Banana Tree (one of a chain of Asian food restaurants), and I had a yummy curry and two lychee mojitos. (They had a two-for-one deal on the drinks, and I could hardly let that second one go to waste, right?) I'd hoped to also visit my favorite junk shop in London, which is right down the road from there, but I had to get back home by 4 p.m. for a call with my financial advisor. We had to skedaddle.
And can you believe I didn't take a single picture on that whole outing? I must be losing my touch.
That's why you're getting more pictures of the garden.
When I took the trash out yesterday, I found a Jersey tiger moth sitting atop the bins. It seemed like a bad place to be, so I gingerly moved it to a nearby buddleia plant. I think it must have been newly emerged, or maybe just damp, because it seemed a bit clumsy and uncoordinated -- I tried to prompt it to fly so I could show you its beautiful underwings, and instead it just flopped over on its back. Message to moth: Don't do THAT when a bird is hanging over you! Anyway, hopefully once it dried out it became a bit more agile.
Dave and I had a weird experience watching an episode of "The Golden Girls" last night. (Yes, we watch "The Golden Girls." We are gay men of a certain age and it's required.) Blanche said to Dorothy and Rose, "I am abhorred," and of course that became the basis of a joke. But I think using "abhorred" that way is grammatically incorrect, isn't it? I don't think a person can BE abhorred; I think they have to abhor something. It's a transitive verb that needs an object.
In fact, we weren't even sure what she was saying at first. I had to put on the closed captioning to understand her -- a sure sign that I am becoming my parents!
We've got some more stuff blooming in the garden. Our sage finally produced a flower stalk, a little later than usual, I think. It sat more or less dormant through the spring, but then I repotted it and it took off.
And we have a hollyhock! And more buds coming! Hollyhocks never work that well for me, despite the fact that everyone says they're so easy to grow, so I'm thrilled to get even a single flower. I grew this plant from the seed of one outside the school where Dave works (and where I used to work). It bloomed a couple of years ago too. Maybe our luck with hollyhocks is turning around.
I took a long, long walk yesterday morning up around the Clitterhouse Playing Fields, almost up to Brent Cross, and then back again -- about five or six miles, according to Google maps. It was a good day for walking. The weather was comfortable and as usual there were some curious sights along the way.
Someone set out these blue and white plates for the taking. You will be surprised to learn that I didn't take any! The two left-hand ones were pretty old and crackled, but it did make me think I should get a plate hanger to hang up my pheasant platter.
I also came across this wrecked gambling machine outside a house near Brent Cross. The British call these "fruit machines," because they have internal wheels that spin depicting pieces of fruit, like American slot machines. In fact I suppose it's a type of slot machine but there's a lot of stuff going on up top there that I don't understand. (I've never used a slot/fruit machine in my life and I plan to keep it that way.)
Anyway, it's one of the weirder things I've ever found out walking. Someone must have been pretty angry at it!
After I got home I read "Juice" and had lunch. At one point I heard a lot of squawking in the garden -- and as we've established, that's not unusual so I didn't immediately investigate. But when I went out later I found scattered feathers, a leg and entrails from what I believe was a young starling. I don't know whether the predator was a cat or a fox, but I suspect a cat would carry off its prey rather than pluck and disembowel it right away. So I'm leaning fox.
And finally, in the afternoon, I found two of these little critters wandering around on our Phlomis, or Turkish sage. Google tells me they're nymph forms of a southern green shield bug, also known as a stink bug, or Nezara viridula. Pretty, aren't they? It's an "instar," which means it's between molts as it grows and matures. Eventually it will be all green. Stink bugs do cause crop damage but I'm not growing any food, and I'm not worried about them eating our Phlomis. They can indulge all they want. In fact, we could use some help knocking that stuff back. It's out of control.
We've found these bugs in our garden in years past, so this isn't anything new. In fact I'm pretty sure I've photographed this instar stage before but if I blogged it I can't find the post now.
Dave and I were talking yesterday about how we haven't seen many butterflies yet this year. We saw a red admiral in the garden yesterday (which prompted our conversation) and I'd seen a peacock earlier in the spring. But otherwise, just a few cabbage whites, small blues and the speckled wood I blogged a few weeks back.
There's always some variability to when the butterflies show up, based on when and how much it's rained and what the temperatures have been. I don't really understand all the factors and how they play out.
I thought I'd walk up to the butterfly garden at Hampstead Cemetery and see what I could find there. And bingo, there were butterflies out and about. Above is a skipper, though exactly which one I'm not sure. (There are three possibilities: small, large and Essex, and they all look pretty much the same to me.)
Here's a meadow brown...
...and another one with open wings.
And here's a cabbage white, feasting on thistles. All these are common, small and somewhat unremarkable butterflies. I didn't see any burnets or any other very interesting ones until...
...this peacock flew into view. Unfortunately, for the longest time it sat atop flowers with its wings closed, not cooperating with my photography.
I finally got one shot of it with open wings, from a pretty far distance.
And then I saw this rather tired-looking painted lady, which I was happy about. It's the first painted lady I've seen this year.
Now I have to keep my camera ready for that red admiral when it comes back around! Our buddleia is blooming up a storm, and that has attracted colorful butterflies in the past, so I'm hopeful.
I'm sitting in our back garden as I write this, and it's a blissful 66º F (or 19º C)! The heat has broken, at least in our part of the world. As I understand it, it's still hanging over central Europe and creeping slowly eastward, but at least it's gone from here.
Yesterday was still pretty warm, 88º F at 3:30 p.m., but that's within the realm of reason and comfort. It is summer, after all. There will be warmth.
Dave made plans for dinner last night at a French place he'd read about on Instagram. (Dave is on Instagram? I had no idea.) Anyway, I reminded him that we had fish, pre-cooked vegetables and an entire chicken in the refrigerator, all of it set to expire within a day or two -- not to mention leftovers. So he cooked the chicken yesterday and we stuck it back in the fridge, and we'll be nibbling on that for the next week. The fish and veg will be tonight. We never throw away food, but sometimes getting everything eaten requires some logistical planning!
We also have a couple of entrees in the freezer from times Dave overbought groceries. I think we ought to focus on eating everything down over the next ten days or so before our trip. Once food is in the freezer Dave forgets about it entirely, so that will be my campaign -- to remind him.
"Gallery Valentin" Dahlia
Now that we've been released from the oven, I mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon and I have some trimming to do in the area of the blackberry patch. That part of the garden tends to get, well, brambly.
I also noticed several days ago that our yellow and Asiatic lilies were afflicted with scarlet lily beetle. Their larvae were all over the plants, rapidly devouring them. I dithered for a while on what to do, because you know I hate killing anything -- even garden pests. But yesterday I finally took the hose and washed off all the larvae in the middle of the lawn, where they will never be able to get back to the plants on the patio -- and I stepped on them for good measure. No more scarlet lily beetles, at least from that particular batch.
I once read about a Buddhist teacher who would say, every time he killed a mosquito or some other pesky insect that it was necessary to kill, "Better luck next time." Despite my Buddhist training I don't think there really is a next time -- I think these insects are living their one precious life. But as my Zen teacher taught me, killing is unavoidable. We kill every time we take a step. It's the way of the world. All we can do is minimize our harm.
"Bishop's Children" Dahlia
I started a book by Australian author Tim Winton called "Juice" that I picked up a couple of years ago at a bookstore. (Although I got my public library card this week, I'm still working on my own reading pile!) From what I can tell so far, it's a survival tale about life in a post-apocalyptic Australia -- kind of like "The Road" transplanted Down Under. I've liked Winton's other books and this one seems promising.
Oh, and we did go to Dave's French restaurant last night. We thought it was just OK.
Well, yesterday turned out to be the hardest day of this entire heat wave. The temperature got to 96º F (or 36º C), and there was very little air movement. Everything was dead still. The world was a slow-bake oven.
Experts officially declared this the worst heat wave Europe has ever experienced, with temperatures that would have been "virtually impossible" 50 years ago. Climate change is thought to be at the root of it, of course. The UK broke its hottest June temperature record for the third day in a row.
I did take a walk in the morning, but by midday I was so desperate that Dave and I decided to find a cool retreat. We first went to the public library because we had to pick up our new library cards -- but the library has no central air conditioning! They had a couple of portable air conditioners placed strategically around the room, but the exhaust vent hoses were also in the room, so while one side of each machine was blowing cool air, the other was blowing a stiflingly hot blast. The net gain was zero. We got out of there.
We went instead to Cafe Nero, which did have properly installed and functioning air-conditioning, and thank goodness. We found a table and got some coffees and sat there for about four hours, going over all our options for our cruise next month. We decided on some excursions for the days we're in port, and that was by far the happiest part of the day. I felt like a kettle that had been taken off the heat, with the steam pouring out of my ears gradually diminishing. After Dave left I stayed another hour or so to read blogs.
In the morning I finished Rebecca Solnit's book "The Beginning Comes After the End," which was a thought-provoking and ultimately optimistic look at our current global political strife. Rather than fixating on the rise of the cruel, inept and authoritarian leaders who seem to occupy the world stage today, Solnit wants us to step back and look at the bigger picture -- the ground that has been gained in society over the last century, the respect now widely shown to formerly maligned groups like Native Americans and LGBTQ+ people, the greater understanding and appreciation for the rights of animals and nature, the gains of the Civil Rights era that have reshaped all our views and expectations.
Today's backlash is the inevitable reaction to all that progress, and is essentially the dying gasp of the old power structure, she says. "Cruelty, greed and division are not new, but when the old order that institutionalized them is threatened, its beneficiaries come out fighting to hold onto advantages that used to go unquestioned," she wrote. (That sentence made me immediately think of Elon Musk.)
And as she put it in another part of the book, though individual rights can be legally curtailed, the idea of those rights can't be killed. Entire generations have grown up in the environment of earlier political gains, of slow but essentially revolutionary change, and we all see the world through that lens. As Solnit puts it, "You can cut down the flowers, but you can't stop the spring. There is no going back, though how we go forward is the work -- or conflict -- at hand."
Or, as she quotes writer Anand Giridharadas, "When I look down at the ground of the present right now, I feel depressed. If I lift my head to the horizon, I see a different picture. This is not the chaos of the beginning of something. This is the chaos of the end of something."
God, I hope so.
Solnit also made the interesting observation, and I'm paraphrasing from memory here, that conservatives who see the world through a lens of individuality and isolated achievement are less understanding of systems -- of the interconnection between all living things, and all people and parts of society and economic groups. Rather than perceiving that web of existence, they see only their pinprick selves moving through a universe of resources (including other humans) to be taken and manipulated at will. This is why right-wingers disdain talk of climate change, because the Earth's climate is the ultimate system. When Margaret Thatcher famously declared "there is no society," she was displaying that inability to perceive interconnectedness.
Last night was awful. When I went to bed at 10 p.m. the temperature was 80º F (27º C) and that is just not good sleeping weather. We have an oscillating fan, but it doesn't do much in an airless room. I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, after I went out and sat on the garden bench just to cool off in the darkness. (It may have been 80º outside but that's cooler than the temperatures inside the house.) I seriously considered sleeping in the garden, but I didn't want to wake up with a rat nibbling my toes.
Instead I came inside, spread out on the living room floor beneath our largest window, and fell asleep there. I woke up around 2:30 a.m. and moved to the bedroom, which was more tolerable by then.
Still warm today, up to the high 80's or about 31º C, but we've had some rain and it's overcast, and all of this really is coming to an end. For now.
There's something really grating about persistent heat. I feel more on edge and more tense, if not from current discomfort then from dread of the discomfort that's coming. I think of that famous Raymond Chandler line about the Santa Ana winds, making "meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks." I'm not studying my husband's neck, but I am feeling that tension.
Yesterday, it turns out, was our day of relief -- the temperatures only got to about 90º F, or 32º C. Today it's going to get up to 94º F (34º C) and although the temps start to drop after that, they drop slowly. Saturday's high will be 87º F (31º C).
I don't know why I find this so difficult. I lived in Morocco for two years with no air conditioning, and it gets a lot hotter there than here. But I was younger then, and less cranky.
I spent yesterday morning at home. I got in another good walk in the morning, followed by reading. Oh, and I finished posting all my rescued slides! (At least, all the ones I thought worth posting -- a fraction of the whole.) So I'm finally finished sorting, scanning, editing, uploading and tagging -- and the results are on Flickr in album 1, album 2 and album 3. There are a total of 573 pictures.
I will acquire more slides at some point, but I may take a little break now.
After lunch I went down to the Photographer's Gallery in Soho to see an exhibit of Japanese women photographers. I went mainly to enjoy the air conditioned space, but the photography was interesting, too. Then I spent a ridiculous amount of money on three photo books in the bookshop, including one of pictures of New York by Harry Gruyaert. I read about this book in The Guardian and it's been on my radar ever since, so I was happy to get a copy. Gruyaert's pictures are dense, layered, colorful depictions of street life and after sitting in the cafe with an Americano and paging through them, I was inspired to take a little walk (despite the heat) and take some colorful street photos of my own.
I also bought Arthur Tress's book about men cruising The Ramble in Central Park back in 1969, which I'd also read about in The Guardian, and one by William Eggleston. Photo book stores are dangerous places for me.
I'm not sure what we're going to do today. We might just go find a cafe or mall and hang out indoors. We need to go through the itinerary for our upcoming cruise and decide if we want to buy any of the little side excursions they offer when we're in port. I'm happy to just wander on my own, generally -- and knowing Dave he might not even want to get off the ship -- but I suppose we ought to at least look them over.
I took a walk early yesterday morning, before it got hot, up through Cricklewood and back again. I was surprised to find this huge plastic (fiberglass?) pachyderm standing outside the Crown hotel. Why, I have no idea. Made a good picture, though.
I also came across this flat on Fortune Green Road. Is this World Cup enthusiasm, or an attempt to keep the sun out of his/her windows? Could be both, I suppose. An interesting mix of countries, there.
I was really glad to get the walking out of the way early, when the temperatures were comfortable, and in fact I hope to do the same this morning. It felt good to catch up on my podcasts and get some exercise.
Ultimately the temperatures got to about 94º F (or 34º C) in our immediate neighborhood, I think. It got hotter elsewhere. That was supposed to be the worst of our "heat dome" experience -- today is expected to be slightly less extreme, if not exactly cool.
Thinking we'd beat the heat, Dave and I went to the cinema. (That's him contemplating Helena Bonham Carter's décolletage, above.) We walked to Hampstead and popped into the Everyman Cinema to see "Disclosure Day." We stepped into the blessedly cool lobby and were certain we'd made a wise decision -- until we learned that the air conditioner in the main cinema wasn't working! While the rest of the building was cool, the air conditioner for screen one -- a big room with a balcony -- was overwhelmed, the manager said. She'd even called an engineer, who said although the machine was functioning, the unit on the roof, in the sun, was registering a temperature of 143º F (or 61º C) and the refrigerant was unable to flow at that temperature -- or something like that.
Anyway, Dave and I debated what to do. The manager told us that the balcony, weirdly, might be slightly cooler than the seats on the floor. Another couple who came in with us decided to leave and get a refund, but we stuck it out and indeed we were fine. It was warm by air-conditioned standards, but certainly cooler than our house at home, and a couple of Aperol spritzes made the whole situation seem like an adventure.
And the movie was good! I really enjoyed it. The performances were terrific and the story, about the revelation that the U.S. government knew of past alien visitation to Earth, was engrossing. Steven Spielberg strikes again.
Here's a detail of the pattern on the Thai batik "tablecloth" I showed you yesterday. It is indeed from Pataya, as YP correctly guessed, though it's spelled "Phataya" on the cloth. Tomato, tomahto.
I see that author and fashion journalist Shirley Lord has died. Spy magazine, in the 1980s, insisted on repeatedly calling her "bosomy dirty book writer Shirley Lord," which I always found hilarious. (At the time she was married to Abe Rosenthal, the executive editor of The New York Times, so it was yet another way for Spy to give the finger to the establishment.) Spy is also responsible for tagging Donald Trump as a "short-fingered vulgarian," a nickname that became a similarly long-running joke. I was surprised the Times didn't mention the Spy joke in Lord's obituary, actually, given how famous it was (and the fact that a lot of people, like me, know her primarily because of that joke). But I suppose the editors thought it would be too mean.
Our bear's breeches (Acanthus) is blooming once again, but we only have one flower spike this year -- unlike last year, when we had four or five. I always think the flowers look like mollusks -- like mussels growing on a rope.
The "heat dome" was unpleasant yesterday but it wasn't agony. I checked the temperature in the afternoon and it was about 92º F (or 33º C). It was very humid, given our recent rain, and that didn't help matters, but I don't think we're getting heat as murderous as what they're seeing in continental Europe. Did you see that 40 people drowned in France (in separate incidents) while trying to stay cool during the past week or so?! Crazy.
I'm sitting out on the garden bench now, at 6 a.m., and it feels very comfortable -- about 71º F (or 22º C).
Anyway, I spent yesterday morning scanning slides and reading. I'm almost done with this slide project. I have a few more days of scanning and uploading and then I'll be finished with all the slides I have at the moment. Almost time to get more!
I finished a novel called "Sam" by a writer named Lonnie Coleman (who went on to write the "Beulah Land" series, best-sellers in the '70s). "Sam" is notable for being an early (1959) portrayal of gay men in a somewhat sympathetic light. It was full of old-fashioned gender dynamics, exploring how friendship between gay men and straight women could affect their romantic lives, and showed that while there were waspy queens, not every gay man fit that mold. Of course its depictions were dated and the book was full of dialogue like, "Who are those incredible little marys huddling by the aspidistra?" (Yes, that's an actual line.) But it was entertaining, from a historical perspective.
The birds weren't daunted by the heat yesterday. They were making a racket in the garden -- so much noise I put them on video. First there's a clip of the parakeets in our walnut tree (which I actually took several days ago). Then you'll hear what the starlings and tits sounded like as I was sitting out in the garden reading. It's a miracle I could concentrate. In the third clip, the starlings are squabbling on the bird feeder in the evening, and you'll hear the parakeets again too.
Dave and I ended the day with an al fresco dinner -- tuna tartare, which required no cooking at all. (The benefit of this, in terms of temperatures in the house, was somewhat negated by the fact that Dave also made a big pot of bolognese sauce for the coming week.) Do you like the summery tablecloth? It's a piece of batik from Thailand that I found on the high street several years ago while walking Olga -- one of the thrift shops was throwing it away and I thought, "I can use that!" It bears pictures of sailing, parasailing and other activities presumably available at whatever Thai resort it came from. A little evening vacation!
When Dave and I were down in Piccadilly on Sunday, we passed the closed gates of the Royal Academy of Arts. I could see this big rainbow artwork standing in the courtyard, and though I took some pictures through the gates, I only had my phone and they didn't turn out so well. Yesterday I went back down with my big camera, when the Academy was open, and I took some proper shots.
The art is by Ugo Rondinone, who says a rainbow is "celebratory and optimistic, but it is also the shape grief takes when it refuses to disappear." His first rainbow-themed work, "Cry Me a River," was produced in the 1990s, inspired by the AIDS crisis. Since then he's made 17 rainbows using different phrases. This one seems properly joyful, perfect for Pride. (Which will be celebrated in London in just a couple of weeks.)
The Eros fountain at Piccadilly Circus is sheathed in scaffolding and plywood. I'm not sure what's happening there, and a quick Google search didn't turn up any answers. (It did inform me, via Wikipedia, that the fountain is erroneously known as Eros and that its proper name is the "Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain," topped by a figure of Anteros, who was the brother of Eros. Who knew?!)
I walked up through Soho, where I encountered some amusing graffiti, as always.
Tesco is already flying its Pride colors, in preparation for our Pride celebration and parade on July 4. Yes, America, on the same day that you'll be celebrating the founding fathers and the Declaration of Independence, we'll be marching in the streets for LGBTQ+ power! (I do plan to attend, as usual, barring unforeseen circumstances.)
I wound up into Fitzrovia and walked down sunny Goodge Street before winding around All Souls Church near Oxford Circus, where the steeple carries an optimistic multinational message.
I then caught the tube at Bond Street to come home, having been out a couple of hours. It was good to get some walking in, because I'll probably be sticking close to home for the next few days, given our impending heat wave. This morning, as I write, it feels comfortable but humid. We had rain all night, including thunder and lightning, which I assume has something to do with the hot air from this "heat dome" colliding with and displacing our previous cooler temperatures.
Last night Dave made rissotto in his new Made In pan, and pronounced it a winner. Whew! I won't have to return it!
I've just been out watering dahlias. The anticipated and much-discussed "heat dome," whatever that is, hasn't hit us yet -- but when it comes, I want the plants to be hydrated and ready! Tomorrow is expected to be the first of three really hot days, Wednesday being the scorcher with temperatures up to 99º F (or 37.2º C).
I found this little ladybug on the "Poodle Skirt" dahlia. It's kind of an unusual one. Here's a close-up:
According to Google, this is a "Harlequin Ladybird (Harmonia axyridis) in its melanistic form, commonly known as f. spectabilis. A key feature is the presence of white markings on its head and pronotum, sometimes referred to as 'cheeks.' These beetles originate from Asia and have become a widespread invasive species in many parts of the world, including the UK, where they can threaten native species."
Most of the ladybirds we see in our garden are Harlequins, even though we released several batches of native ones a couple of times in years past. I've never heard that we're supposed to do anything to cull Harlequins, and in fact it can be hard enough to figure out which is which, so I just let them be. I'm not sure I could ever bring myself to kill a ladybird, invasive or not.
I watered all the houseplants and walked to the hardware store on the high street for some bug spray (an allegedly "pet and child friendly" type) to treat the Rhipsalis cactus for its mealybugs. The cactus has so many branches and spindles that I can never get every nook and cranny treating with alcohol and Q-Tips by hand. I never use any kind of bug spray outside, but the cactus lives indoors, so there's no risk that spraying will harm beneficial insects. I'm sure this will be an ongoing project.
I also cleared the path into the garden. I tied back the Crocosmia so that it doesn't flop as much, and I put in a plant support to push back the Phlomis and the dusty miller. Now we can walk through here without feeling quite so oppressed.
Two of our orchids are brightening up the living room at the moment. Kind of hard to see them against the avocado and tree fern outside!
Finally, today is Dave's birthday. Woo hoo! He is a youthful 58. We celebrated last night with a dinner out in Soho and then a show -- "Titanique" at the Criterion Theatre. "Titanique" is a panto-inspired parody of the movie "Titanic" and features Celine Dion as a central character, a sort of master-of-ceremonies. Dave likes "Titanic" and knows it well, so I knew he'd get a kick out of "Titanique," and as an added bonus it's currently starring a guy named William Hanson, who I'd never heard of but who Dave knows from YouTube. (Dave is much trendier than I am.) So he got a kick out of that, too. By the time we got out of there last night, our cheeks hurt from laughing so much.
I also bought Dave a pan that he's wanted, by Made In Cookware. But he asked for that, so it was hardly a surprise. He basically just ordered it through me!
There's a large white climbing rose growing over the trees in the back of the garden. It's actually grown over the fence from the neighbor's, but I don't mind because it's beautiful and along with our own pink climbing roses, it puts on quite a show. It's past its peak now, and its white petals are fluttering down like confetti, landing on our hydrangeas (above) and everywhere else.
I was home all day yesterday, but as usual, I had several projects. I cleaned out the alley at the side of the house where we store our rubbish bins -- just the area streetside of the garden gate. It was full of campanula and other weeds and the shrubbery was growing into the bin storage area, so I weeded it and trimmed everything back and swept it all out. It looks much tidier now. I didn't clean the side return behind the garden gate but I'm leaving all that campanula for now, because it's still blooming and the bees like it. Besides, no one can see that area besides us.
I also moved our fiddle-leaf fig outside for its annual shower. I noticed on Friday night that it was looking pretty dusty. I hosed it down and I think it appreciated the "rain." That pink geranium at bottom left is one I rescued from a neighbor's yard waste bag on the street. They threw it out, and I grabbed it and brought it home and stuck it in a pot and it's perfectly happy. It's a beautiful color.
Remember how a squirrel was climbing into our peanut feeder? Well, I was afraid it would get trapped in there, and that combined with the RSPB advice not to feed nuts during the summer persuaded me to take the feeder down entirely. But now the squirrel has figured out how to climb into the seed feeder as well! Argh!
I don't think it likes the seeds as much, and it seems to struggle to reach them through the tiny openings for the birds, so maybe it will eventually grow discouraged. (Ha!)
God, this is a boring post. Sorry about that. What can I talk about that doesn't involve houseplants or bird feeders? How about Donald Trump and his completely bungled refurbishment of the Reflecting Pool? I am amused as heck by the incompetence he and his team displayed on that job, with the pool's fancy new coating coming away in sheets (within days!) and the water a poisonous-looking algae-green. Trump was so arrogant, insisting he could do the job right at a fraction of the cost of previous restorations, without properly understanding any complications -- and now he's paying for that arrogance. (Though as usual he refuses to take responsibility, blaming leftist vandals. Even if you buy that excuse -- which I don't -- what kind of properly installed pool coating allows people to cut or tear it off?)
And how about his apparent insistence that the scaffold remain in place in front of the Kennedy Center, so no one can see that his name has been removed by court order? He's such a baby. The entire country is being run by middle schoolers -- and I've worked with middle schoolers so I know.
Then we have politics here in the UK. The sudden return of Andy Burnham to Parliament, after a stint as mayor of Manchester, apparently poses an existential threat to Starmer. To an outsider it may seem peculiar that Burnham, who was only just elected to Parliament days ago, would leapfrog everyone else to become Starmer's chief rival -- but he was in parliament for years before his Manchester gig, including in the cabinet, so he's quite experienced. I think Burnham is an appealing figure but as I've said, as unenthusiastic as I am about Starmer, I'm not sure I want to kick him out. I think there's something to be said for maintaining the continuity of the government, especially after several years of very short-lived prime ministers.
As long as I'm boring you with gardening and politics, why not go whole-hog?
Here's the latest footage from our Garden Cam! Woo hoo! It wasn't a super exciting week, but we have a few mildly interesting moments.
We start with Crooked Tail and then Sharpie, sniffing around in the rain. (That was on June 10, so we're actually going back more than a week.) They don't seem happy with the precipitation. -- At 0:22, the next night, it's still damp but at least the rain's not pelting down. -- At 0:35, the following night, it's drier still. -- At 0:45, Crooked Tail (I think?) shows up with something in his/her mouth. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe a dog treat from that still unidentified source? There's more back-and-forth by various foxes. -- At 01:15, a great tit nibbles something from the ground. -- At 01:20 there's more foxes wandering around. -- At 02:14, another fox shows up with more food. I'm not sure what it's eating. It settles down for a nibble. (It's hard to discourage our rodent visitors when the foxes keep bringing food into the garden!) -- At 02:35, Huge Cat makes an appearance. I like its triangular face mask. -- At 02:49, we see a starling and a "little brown thing" (that's a birdwatching term), followed by a very poised squirrel. -- At 03:08, a fox walks past and apparently surprises a cat offscreen, because we hear it yowling. -- At 03:37, we see two clips of a blackbird (and hear a leaf-blower, ugh). The bird gets chased off by a squirrel. -- At 04:09, a fox begins a long itching/grooming session. It may seem to go on for a while, but I actually cut out a full minute of footage! -- At 04:55, a magpie seems to be collecting sticks. For a nest, maybe? Seems kind of late for that. -- At 05:16, pigeon, squirrel and hoverfly. -- At 05:31, various passing foxes. -- At 05:54, I turned the camera for another angle on the garden and captured our old friend, the rat. (I moved the camera several times after this just to get different perspectives.) -- At 05:59, a fox trots past. The video skips slightly. -- At 06:01, the magpie is back, once again collecting sticks. -- At 06:14, the foxes make a few more passes, curious about the camera's new location.
And with that, I'm going to retire the Garden Cam for a while. Let's give the poor animals some privacy for the summer, shall we?
Remember the ladybug (or ladybird) I rescued from our yard waste bin the other day? It was in its pupal stage and I had accidentally cut its twig out from under it -- and then taped that twig to an adjoining plant so the insect could continue to grow. Well, I woke up yesterday morning to find it had emerged from its pupa and was resting. It was a very light-orange color and had only barely visible spots.
I checked back again at noon and it looked like this -- much darker and more obviously like a ladybug. Its shell appeared to have hardened and taken on a shinier appearance.
When I looked at 3 p.m., it was gone.
So that's a happy success story. I also lifted four or five ladybug larvae out of the yard waste bag and put them back on garden plants. We gotta encourage these ladybirds to keep down our aphids!
Aside from rescuing insects, yesterday was pretty quiet. It was very warm and dry, and I did a lot of reading and watering.
Some of you asked to see the creamer I bought at Eclectica on Wandsworth Road on Thursday. It's the one on the left, and as I said, I bought it because it seemed a good companion for the one on the right, which I bought 15 years ago right after we moved to London. The new one only cost 50 pence!
Wisdom from some Lucky Pagoda fortune cookies I had with my coffee yesterday afternoon, courtesy of W. Wing Yip PLC of Nechells, Birmingham. They've been hanging around our kitchen for weeks, left over from some forgotten Chinese takeaway.
Last night we finished "The Pitt," and I feel lost without it! We started "Joan" on ITV on the recommendation of blogger Meike from Germany, and I'm liking that so far. I also finally finished "Invasion" (finally!) and I'm still working on "The Lincoln Lawyer." Dave, whose patience with scripted shows has diminished over the years, increasingly just scrolls his Facebook feed while I watch television.
I was ready for an urban adventure yesterday, so I set off in late morning for the Tate Britain to see the James McNeill Whistler exhibit. I thought going midday on a Thursday might mean there would be a sparse crowd, but no! The place was packed.
It was an interesting exhibit. I like Whistler's gauzy expressionist painting style, with landscapes shrouded in mist and portraits in layered, dark tones. Of course his famous mother was there (above), on loan from the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. (Her official title is "Arrangement in Gray and Black No. 1.") This is the second time I've seen her. When I went to Paris in April 2000, I visited the Musee d'Orsay and wrote in my journal afterwards: "There were lots of spectacular paintings there -- just amazing stuff -- 'Whistler's Mother' even -- who knew that was in France?!"
I read a biography of Whistler back in 2014, but some of what I thought I knew about him when I wrote that post is incorrect. He did in fact marry, albeit later in life, and apparently it's still unclear how much he sympathized with the Confederates in the American Civil War. Maybe I just hadn't yet gotten to that point in the book. I still persist in believing that he might have been just a little bit gay, against all evidence to the contrary.
Here's a smaller work in pastels that shows Whistler's genius at capturing form and movement in just a few strokes. This is called "Four Ladies in Japanese Costume," from about 1870.
Anyway, after taking in the show, I took a long walk across the Vauxhall Bridge and came across this horror:
Apparently these young people were protesting Pret a Manger because the chain (according to them) buys inhumanely grown chicken, from animals that have been genetically engineered in such a way that they can't even move. Certainly an eye-catching protest.
From there I walked down Wandsworth Road to Clapham Junction. This is a walk I took many years ago, in early 2013, and I'm not sure I've been back since. So I was curious to see what the area looks like now.
Uncle Tom's Cabin is still there, and it has even been refurbished since I photographed it back in 2013.
I had a good long walk, and enjoyed listening to my iTunes and just taking in the scenery and people. I even popped into this little shop, which is amazingly still in business, and bought a vintage creamer that I need like a hole in the head. (But it matches another vintage creamer I bought ages ago, so why not?!)
Because I walked through the neighborhood known as Lavender Hill, I was inspired when I got home to watch "The Lavender Hill Mob," an old Ealing comedy starring Alec Guinness. I've meant to see this movie for years and years and I'm happy to report that it remains delightful and enjoyable.
Dave was out last night, at a party with some co-workers, so I had leftovers and watched a couple of shows he doesn't like -- "The Lincoln Lawyer" on Netflix and "Invasion" on Apple TV (which I am doggedly trying to get through even though I don't like it much myself).
