Shantaram

We're getting back to normal around here. I did drop off the sheets and towels at the laundry yesterday morning, and I picked them up at the end of the day, all neatly folded in a stack. It's possibly one of the best ways I've ever spent £9.

There's not much to tell about yesterday at work. It felt incredibly busy, with my increased attention to getting overdue materials back before the school year ends as well as routine daily business. I felt like I was running all the time, until late in the day, when I was finally able to read a bit of "Shantaram" in a silent, empty library.

I'm liking "Shantaram," but it is HUGE. Like, 900-plus pages. I'm only about halfway through. It's frankly unbelievable in places, but then, it's not supposed to be a memoir -- it's fictionalized. I had no idea it was going to involve so many unsavory characters. I expected it to be all meditative and peaceful and "finding yourself." But no -- it weaves around Indian organized crime and black marketeering and gun-running, all kinds of craziness. It makes me glad I am merely a librarian.

(Photo: Graffiti on a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II by street artist Don, in Brick Lane.)

The Missing Printer Cable

Dave's parents are headed back to the states today. Dave happily discovered yesterday, while trying to check them in, that their flights had been changed and they no longer had to rise at 4:30 in the morning to get to the airport. They insist they received no notification of this change, but who knows. They aren't super-savvy about e-mail. At any rate, they're departing in an hour or two -- and they have one less connection as well.

Last night I went to print their boarding passes and discovered that the printer cable -- connecting the computer to the printer -- is missing. The printer is in the guest room, and the cable was resting on top. I'd just used it Saturday morning so I know it was there recently. I'm convinced his parents inadvertently packed it in their luggage. I'm sure they picked it up, said, "Oh, what's this?" and thinking it was some mysterious accoutrement to one of their electrical devices, shoved it in a suitcase. Lord!

I am going to load all the sheets and towels into a couple of pillowcases and drop them off at the laundry on my way to work. It's pouring rain this morning and I just don't want to think about having to wash and dry all those linens. (We have a dryer but it makes everything look like a wadded-up paper bag, so I prefer hanging things out if possible. Not today!)

We went to dinner last night at The Wells Tavern, in Hampstead. Olga and I walk past it all the time on our treks to the Heath and I'd always wanted to try it. Everyone liked their food -- I had peppers stuffed with goat cheese risotto -- and I'm sure Dave and I will go back.

(Photo: Marylebone, about two weeks ago.)

Leg of Lamb Survival

Remember how we debated whether to eat that leg of lamb from Sunday night? And you all advised us not to?

Well, we did. And we all went to the A&E last night!

No, I'm kidding. We did eat it, but we were fine. Dave cut it up and put it in a stew, and we figured with another hour or so of steady cooking it should be perfectly safe. And it was. Delicious, too, and I am not normally a lamb fan at all. (Well, unless it's living and gallivanting around in a field.)

I had lots of very, very bizarre dreams last night, though, and I'm convinced that lamb was the cause. My brain was gallivanting around in its own hallucinogenic field. They weren't even dreams I could begin to explain -- I was at work, but with people I didn't know, and it wasn't really work, and at one point I was jogging around the building with no pants. Who knows?

We had a quiet day yesterday, which is what Dave's parents needed -- some rest time. It was a bank holiday so Dave and I didn't need to go to work. We toiled in the garden in the morning, and then I took Olga up to the cemetery for a romp. Dave has almost finished planting all the plants he bought within the past few weeks -- some hydrangeas, more alchemilla, some geums, and some others. Oh, and remember that geum I accidentally pulled up a few weeks ago, thinking it was a weed? Well, we replanted it and it seems fine. Durable little devil!

(Photos: Borage, or green alkanet, in our garden. It's a weed, but we've decided to leave it near the back wall, and it's formed a huge bushy colony that's blooming profusely.)

Lightning Strikes Twice

Remember how I went to the A&E (the Emergency Room) on Friday, with my mysterious streaky spider bite?

Well, we were back in the same A&E last night. For an entirely different reason.

Funny how I've lived in England nearly four years and I never needed an A&E, and then in one weekend I'm there twice.

We were fine for most of the day yesterday. We'd planned a noontime high tea for Dave's parents at Fortnum & Mason, a swanky shop and tea house on Piccadilly. We took a taxi there and settled into the plush cream-and-robin's-egg-blue dining room, where we had a small savory course and some fancy little cakes and scones, and then an entirely unnecessary dessert. It was fun, but by the end I felt the way I always do after high tea, full of liquid and slightly nauseous from all the sugar.

So when we got back home Dave's parents took a nap while I walked Olga to Hampstead Heath. When I got home, around 5 p.m., everyone was still asleep -- a fact that surprised even Dave. We assumed the parents were just exhausted from their cruise.

It turns out, though, that Dave's father wasn't feeling well, and when we took his temperature it was 102º F. I assumed he had a virus and Dave called the National Health Service's help line for advice on what to do. They began asking about chest pains, and to our surprise, Dave's dad said he's been having chest pains on and off for a few weeks. Yikes!

Then -- of course -- Dave's call got cut off before we could get a final recommendation from the NHS, so we all piled into a taxi and went to the hospital. (Turns out they sent an ambulance, which we only learned after the fact.)

The final diagnosis, after about two hours and some tests: walking pneumonia. Dave's dad came home with antibiotics and went to bed. Needless to say, we're cancelling the outings we'd planned for today -- the Churchill War Rooms and dinner at Koffmann's.

Meanwhile, we're faced with a perplexing question. Dave had started slow roasting a leg of lamb in the oven yesterday afternoon. When the hospital situation arose, we turned off the oven, and it remained off  for about four hours. He finished roasting the meat last night after we got home. Should we eat that leg of lamb, or has it become a bacterial time bomb?

We're leaning toward giving it to the dog, little by little. Olga will think this is the best visit ever.

(Photo: Dave and me at Fortnum & Mason, before the chaos.)

A Parental Visit

Olga and I were back at the Heath yesterday, an outing I managed to squeeze in after cleaning the house, going to my three-hour French class and mowing the lawn.

The home and garden maintenance was required because Dave's parents came for a visit yesterday afternoon. They'll be staying with us until Wednesday. They've been on a cruise that took them across the ocean via the Azores and to Ireland, France, Germany, the Netherlands and Denmark. Last night they told us all about their ship, with its casinos and live theater and cinema and lectures and surf-and-turf meals. It all sounds like hell to me, but maybe when I'm 70-something I'll appreciate it.

They've had a great time, anyway, and today and tomorrow (a bank holiday) we have some plans to take them out in London.

So while Dave went all the way down to Gatwick to pick them up, I was maintaining the home and the dog. Who was overjoyed, as you can see from the photo. Here's a close-up, for full effect:

The French class is going well. I'm remembering more, even after just two classes. All the teaching is in French and the class moves fairly quickly. I had a bit of trouble last week squeezing in the time to do my homework, but that was mostly a matter of procrastination!

Here's something I didn't know -- before Anthony Trollope was a successful novelist, he was a civil servant in the post office, and he introduced the cast-iron pillar mailboxes that are still seen all over London. Originally they were painted green, but not many years later they were repainted red, the color they remain today. The things you can learn from a postmark!

The Weirdest Day Ever, with Averted Amputation

Yesterday was a strange day. Very, very strange.

First, at lunch, Dave came into the library with a wide-eyed expression and handed me his phone. Apparently he'd been getting strange text messages from a number we've never seen before. Rather than try to describe them I'll just let you read them in their entirety, along with Dave's hilarious response. (Apologies in advance for the language.)

At first, we just laughed, because this guy was so clearly out to lunch. And what's up with the picture?

Then, after Dave left, I began getting a little concerned. Did this guy really think Dave was messing with his wife? Is the picture not of the texter, as I'd at first assumed, but of the wife-loving perpetrator? It does look vaguely like Dave, although I've never seen Dave wear an expression quite like that. I called Dave and we talked, but he seemed thoroughly unconcerned about any risks from this person. And indeed we haven't heard from him again.

("Quag," incidentally, is apparently a slang term combining "queer" and "fag." We had to look it up.)

And THEN...

...in the day's second bizarre incident, I got home from work in the evening and we were just settling in to watch TV with a glass of wine when I noticed a welt on the outside of my left wrist. It was a swollen, angry red and hot to the touch. In the center -- not to be too descriptive here -- was a thumbtack-sized crown of pus, and most alarmingly, I had a long red streak running from the welt all the way up my arm nearly to my armpit.

Now, I clearly remember my mother telling me to go to the doctor if I ever see an infection with streaks. So my first reaction was to exclaim "HOLY SH*T!!!"

I didn't have any kind of fever, but my arm was a bit tingly. I didn't recall being bitten or injured in that spot. Dave got online and did some reading, but neither of us had ever seen anything like this before, so we weren't sure what to do. Out of an abundance of caution, we went to the emergency room at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead.

I was prepared to spend the next eight hours there, because that's what often happens in American emergency rooms. But no! Despite the fact that we heard a staff member tell a patient that they were "very busy," we were seen within 20 minutes. The doctor took a look at my welt and rather anticlimactically wrote "insect bite" on the diagnosis form. (I would have preferred "insect bite with potentially septicemic complications," but that's just me.) He lanced the welt, gave me a Band-Aid and an antibiotic and sent me home. The whole visit lasted about half an hour.

I still have no idea what caused it. Maybe that guy who texted Dave slipped a venomous spider through our mail slot?

(Photo: Someone in St. John's Wood has a neat, methodical system for disposing of used coffee cups -- tucking them into a street sign!)

I am a Bulldog

As usual, I've been trying to get overdue materials back to the library -- and in fact I've been intensifying my efforts a bit as the school year is drawing to a close. This is a tricky business because we don't assess late fees, so our patrons have no financial incentive to return items promptly. Ultimately, if you have an overdue item, your only motivation to return it is to get Mr. Reed off your back!

We start by sending weekly automated e-mails to all students with overdue books. If those don't work, their library accounts are frozen after four weeks. Then I start getting personally involved, visiting classrooms and, finally, writing to parents and student advisors.

I scored a minor victory yesterday when I sent an e-mail to the parents of a girl who's had a book out since December. Her mother posted my note, word for word, to the girl's Facebook wall! My hero! The girl commented, "Really, mother? On my timeline? For everyone to see?"

I know this only because another teacher sent me a screen cap of the post. Brilliant.

We'll see if it's effective.

My primary offender at this point is another girl -- a senior, no less -- who's had a book since last October. This has basically become a battle of wills between the two of us, I think. But I am persistent. I am like Olga with her Kong. I am going to gnaw and gnaw and gnaw.

In other news, I was interviewed yesterday by a writer for the RPS Journal, the magazine for the Royal Photographic Society. Apparently they're doing an article about Bleeding London. They asked me to send six of my favorite BL photos for possible publication. Likewise, all participants have been asked to send three favorites to the judges for inclusion in the exhibit, and I still have to choose those. It's exciting to finally be rolling out our work, after all those months of shooting -- but I have about 60 favorite pictures, and choosing my top three will be a challenge!

(Photo: It's wisteria season, as illustrated by this shapely specimen in St. John's Wood.)