The Most Boring Post Ever

Well, it's not even 6 a.m., and Dave and I are both up. We've already wandered the garden, taken out the trash, thrown the Kong toy for Olga and now Dave is having breakfast. This crazy surfeit of daylight!

I don't understand how Dave can eat this early. I can't eat breakfast until about 8 a.m. I need coffee almost immediately upon awakening, but food, for me, has to come later.

Today will be another day of rounding up library materials. Yesterday I wandered the halls between classes, buttonholing students who still have books out, and in between I wrote letters home to parents. We're slowly making progress -- at the beginning of the week our list of patrons with overdue stuff ran to 21 pages, but now we're down to about eight.

I know it must be incredibly boring to read about me tracking down wayward books. Sorry about that. It is, indeed, the focus of my professional life at this time of year. Weirdly, I enjoy it. There's an aspect of mystery and problem-solving to the process.

For example, remember how I did inventory several weeks ago and we found we were missing about 30 books from the shelves? Well, some of those have come back, having been mistakenly (one hopes) removed from the library but then returned. Yesterday, while wandering the halls, I happened to see a missing Tom Clancy novel lying on a teacher's desk! I didn't touch it but today I have to get with the teacher and either check it out to him or return it to the shelves. At least I know the book is still around, and I do feel a little frisson of excitement at having solved the mystery of its disappearance! (And there's a possible bonus -- we're also missing a second Tom Clancy novel, and I'm willing to bet he's got that one too.)

I know, I know -- so boring. Sorry.

At the same time, I'm trying to quickly weed the biographies because that section is overstuffed and someone has volunteered to remove our boxes of old books from the library during the summer. They're going to take them for charity. So we want to get as much of our old stuff into those boxes as possible.

One of the books I thought I'd weed is called "The Queen of Shaba," about a leopard raised by Joy Adamson of "Born Free" fame. It's from the early '80s and it's in pretty bad shape, and hasn't been read by anyone (except me) for at least ten years. I found it an underwhelming book. The character of Elsa the lion really comes alive in "Born Free," but somehow Penny the leopard doesn't have the same star power.

Funny thing, though -- a kid came into the library yesterday looking for books about leopards, and wouldn't you know, the only book we have specifically about leopards is "The Queen of Shaba." Argh! I still think I'm going to get rid of it. Maybe we can get a fresher book to replace it.

Isn't this a fascinating post? I don't know how you can stand it.

And now I have to walk the dog.

(Photos: Some swanky brass lettering in concrete near Sainsbury's on the high street. That company specializes in concrete with glass inlays, according to its web site. The name seems very '50s.)

Wildflower Garden

You may remember that last spring, I cleared a patch of land at the corner of our garden and planted some wildflower seeds. There were cornflowers and poppies and scabious and some others, as I recall.

Well, none of them ever sprouted -- at least not that I could tell. Our little wildflower garden remained fallow, dusty and unforgiving. Eventually we planted a few cow parsley plants and a milk parsley, as well as some comfrey. They took hold, and toward late summer some other little plants appeared in the surrounding soil -- I couldn't tell if they belatedly came from the seeds I'd sown or were simply weeds. (I suppose weeds are wildflowers, so maybe it doesn't matter.)

This year, as you can see, the wildflower patch is insane. Most of it is borage, which was growing there already. It has seeded and spread all on its own. We also have a feathery wild carrot plant, at least three musk mallows, a few English plantains, and some other random stuff. Our milk parsley is holding its own, but the cow parsleys vanished (apparently they're annuals). We have bright pink valerian and, at the back, a large-leafed inula that keeps getting gnawed by slugs. I planted some burdock seedlings in this bed but they were promptly eaten and subsequently engulfed by the surrounding foliage.

It's not quite what I envisioned when I thought of a wildflower bed -- I imagined something much more meadow-like, with multicolored blossoms on tall, slender stems. Instead, we've got a jungle. But it serves the purpose -- it's a constant hive of insect activity. The bees, especially, love it.

They're on the blue borage all the time...

...and they crawl headfirst into the purple bell-like flowers of the comfrey.

(I can't help wondering where all these bees live. I've never seen a hive in this area, but obviously there must be one!)

There's far more bee activity in this corner of the garden than anywhere else, which proves that when it comes to insects, they like wild, native plants the most. As much as I love our roses, I've never seen much on them in terms of wildlife. Just aphids and ladybugs!

Mystery Portrait, 1969

As we were walking to the Bethnal Green tube station from Lisa and Xan's house a few weekends ago, we passed this painting propped up against a building. It's signed "E. Sharland, 1969." As an example of found amateur art, it's not terrible. You've got to wonder who that girl is. She'd be my age by now, if not older.

Anyway, I hope someone rescues it. I like its battered wabi-sabi look. I'd have taken it myself, but we were headed to lunch and I didn't really want to carry it around.

One of my readers helpfully posted an update about the restaurant in yesterday's photo, with information from its web site. Apparently the place is closed for renovation after a "kitchen accident." That tweaked a dim memory in my mind. I did some more Googling and sure enough, the Gung-Ho was involved in a fire almost exactly a year ago. I didn't mention it on my blog at the time, I don't think, even though it happened right around the corner, and I'd since forgotten about it. But anyway, that's why it's closed. (In addition, one suspects, to the fact that it was always empty -- although maybe it did a booming takeaway service. Clearly they were cooking something.)

I am still cranky about work. This time of year, when you'd think we'd all be happy with vacation right around the corner, is always so stressful for me. I had a mini-meltdown yesterday, in which I had to go take a walk around the building because I got so angry at my co-workers. (It's a long and boring story.) We've still got one more week after this, although not all those days are with students.

It doesn't help that we're at the time of year when the sun comes up at 4:30 a.m., prompting Olga to begin whining and beating her tail against the bed in an effort to wake us up so we can HUNT SQUIRRELS which, after all, is the meaning of life, as far as she's concerned. So I've been awake since shortly before 5 a.m. And darkness doesn't fall until almost 10 p.m., and I'm lying awake at night strategizing about how to get back all the rest of our materials within the next few days (which sounds silly, I know, but it's a fact) -- which all adds up to not getting enough sleep. Which makes me cranky.

At least we got some rain yesterday, which was much needed. The garden is still going gangbusters. Pictures to follow!

Keeping My Head Down

This restaurant is a very peculiar place. It's right around the corner from our flat, and it's been there since we moved in five years ago. It used to fill three (if I'm not mistaken) shopfronts. It eventually downsized to two, and now it seems closed altogether. In all of that time I never saw more than a handful of customers in the place. I don't get why it started so BIG and why it took so long to vanish. (And it's really not vanished yet -- they could be remodeling!)

Weird.

I am staying out of the Trump fray. I've demonstrated against him in the past and I'm certainly in agreement with the throngs of protestors who are expected to choke London's streets today, during his state visit. But I'm not going to participate in this round of the fight. For one thing, I have to go to work!

You probably heard how Trump and London Mayor Sadiq Khan were exchanging barbs before Trump's plane even landed. They're both playing politics. Khan knows cosmopolitan, globally minded Londoners -- his bread and butter -- don't support Trump. And Trump knows none of his voters are going to identify with someone named Sadiq. There's no danger for either of them in rattling each other's cages.

Honestly, the whole Trump horror show is so exhausting that I can't bring myself to watch it too closely. Seeing that bloated, orange bully, that "short-fingered vulgarian," standing next to the Queen just makes me want to die of embarrassment. He has his fans in England, certainly among the Brexiteers -- I've even seen them wear "Make Britain Great Again" red baseball caps on TV, although that slogan doesn't have the same ring as MAGA -- but I feel a constant need to apologize for him.

As I was lying in bed last night, I had the horrible realization that at that very moment, Trump was just a few miles away. He and Melania are apparently staying at Winfield House, the home of the U.S. Ambassador in Regent's Park. That's way, way too close. I can feel his bad juju.

I just want this visit to be over. I want this next election to be over. I want this whole Trumpian nightmare to be over. I want a leader who's presidential and diplomatic and worthy of respect. Seems reasonable, doesn't it?

Richmond to Boston Manor

Remember how I'm walking the Capital Ring path around London? I wouldn't be surprised if you've forgotten, because it's been almost a month since my last walk. Between the Surprise Party Flu, all our gardening tasks and the chaos of the end of the year at work, I've let my walking slide. But yesterday I got out and completed a shortish segment -- five miles -- between Richmond and Osterley Lock near Boston Manor.

The path began in Richmond along the Thames, where the water reflected rippling shimmers on the underside of Twickenham Bridge.

I passed this intriguing bench along the river. Turns out it's in honor of a family member of Lord Richard Attenborough,  who directed "Gandhi" and who lost several relatives including his daughter and granddaughter in the tsunami on Boxing Day 2004. The bench honors the daughter's mother-in-law, also killed that day.

Near Isleworth, the river splits and flows around a large island. The tide was incredibly low, as you can see. The view is looking downstream toward All Saints Church and a historic crane once used (I assume) in shipping.

I passed The London Apprentice pub, which dates from the Tudor era, according to my map. "By tradition, city apprentices would be rowed with their senior craftsmen to this famous inn to celebrate the receipt of their indentures, entitling them to full journeymen's wages," it said. This sounds like an old wive's tale -- why row all the way from the city upstream to Isleworth rather than go to a pub around the corner? But I could be wrong. Crazier things have happened.

The path went through Syon Park, a 200-acre estate belonging to the Duke of Northumberland. (Apparently there still is one.) It passed the crenellated house, expansive lawns and grand, glass-domed conservatory. The house and gardens are open to the public, but I didn't go in.

From there the path wound past Brentford Lock, where there's a boat basin once used for shipping and now surrounded by fancy apartments. The structure above is the one remaining canopied warehouse, once used for sheltered loading and unloading of cargo. It appears to have been more recently beautified by that decorative metal screen.

The path then led along the Grand Union Canal to Osterley Lock, which is close to the Boston Manor tube station -- and that's where I caught the tube home.

I stopped at Homebase on the way back and bought some petunias and some potting soil to revive the plantings on our front porch -- our pansies from the spring were a sad shadow of their former selves. Then, in the afternoon, Dave and I took Olga on a walk through Fortune Green and the cemetery, so she got her exercise too!

Concert Day

Dave left for work early yesterday morning, wearing his suit and ready to help conduct the end-of-year high school music concert. He and his colleagues had to spend the day moving instruments and setting up the performance space, a big church in Marylebone. Olga and I were left to our own devices.

I spent the morning in the garden, tidying up and doing some minor jobs. Two nights ago Olga flew out the back door, chasing a fox that darted past in the twilight, and ran headlong into a potted delphinium, smashing the pot and leaving a spray of debris across the patio. It looked like it had been struck by a meteor -- which I suppose, in a way, it had. A canine meteor. Anyway, the plant itself was fine -- we just popped it in another pot -- but I had to sweep up all the shards of terra cotta and the pebbles that I'd put in the pot to keep away the squirrels. (The fox got away safely under the garden fence, and Olga, fortunately, is indestructible.)

I also planted our two cosmos seedlings.

Otherwise, Olga and I lay on a blanket in the sun. I finished Sally Rooney's book "Normal People," which frankly I expected to like more than I did. I found the main characters incredibly frustrating. For two people who were purportedly in love, they couldn't communicate very clearly and they kept having misunderstandings that derailed their relationship. I wanted to scream, "Would you please just TALK to each other?!?!?"

I was having such a great day at home that I really didn't want to go to the concert. I had to force myself into the shower and out the door, but these are the things we do for love, after all. I took my camera down to Marylebone intending to photograph the performance, and only when I got there did I realize the camera battery was completely dead. So basically I was hauling a bag the size and weight of a boat anchor for no purpose at all. I was not amused.

I got coffee at a Starbucks before the show and saw several kids from school wander past as I sat at a cafe table on the sidewalk. They never seem to know how to behave when they see me out of context (in other words, away from school). Do they greet me? Do they ignore me? I get both reactions.

Anyway, of course the concert wound up being terrific, as it is every year -- I never fail to be surprised by the skill level and performance abilities of our students. We heard everything from Miles Davis to Stravinsky to Puccini to African choral music. In the end I was very glad I went.

And then I came home and had an evening gin & tonic on the garden bench, waiting for Dave to reappear after the instruments and equipment had been repacked and transported back to school. (If you're wondering why I didn't stay and help, let me just say -- they have a system. I'd be in the way.) I know he and his music department colleagues feel a huge sense of relief having that concert behind them!

(Top photo: A pharmacy in Marylebone. It's been in business for more than 200 years, since 1814!)

Snapdragons

Last spring -- as in, April of 2018 -- I planted some snapdragon seeds. I put some of them straight into the garden and some in two pots on our patio.

The ones in the garden didn't do much -- I only got a few sprouts, which were promptly buried in a cascade of nasturtiums planted nearby. The ones in the pots sprouted, but the sprouts stayed tiny and anemic-looking, and none of them ever bloomed.

In fact, I began to doubt that the sprouts even were snapdragons. I wondered if they were merely weeds. Maybe none of those seeds grew at all?

I left them over the winter, and this spring I almost threw the potted ones away. I went so far as to put the root ball into the garden waste bag on the street. But I had a change of heart and put the plants back in their pot, just to see what they would do, given another summer.

Lo and behold, they have grown and some of them have bloomed.

I'm not sure why it took two years before they produced flowers, and even now I wouldn't say they're thriving. Some of them are only a few inches tall. In retrospect I didn't plant them very carefully -- I just scattered the seeds willy-nilly and didn't thin the seedlings at all. I think some of them have struggled to find enough space to grow.

But at least we have flowers -- FINALLY!