Rayyan's Note

When Dave and I went to Piccadilly for our lunch outing with Olga on Saturday, our car passed this pub near Regent's Park. I liked all the bright, colorful flags, so I resolved to go back and get a picture.

Yesterday at lunch, I left work and made a quick tube run down to Baker Street (one stop) and walked to the pub. And of course, there was a friggin' delivery van parked right in front of it! I couldn't believe my bad luck. I went to get a sandwich and some soup in a nearby Pret a Manger, thinking maybe the van would be gone by the time I was done eating. But no.

So this is the best picture I could get. Fortunately, it's grown on me and now I kind of like it.

Otherwise, yesterday was pretty inconsequential. Olga wouldn't go on her morning walk, and it wasn't even raining. The ground was damp because it had rained, but if that's what was keeping her indoors she's being a little too prissy, in my humble opinion.

Speaking of walking Olga, on Saturday morning's walk, we found this note lying on the wet ground  in Billy Fury Way:

Of course what's ironic about this is that Rayyan also apparently lost the note. Presumably it was not taken by aliens, unless they dropped it in Billy Fury Way. (I didn't think to look around for his history book!)

Hops Hat

This was our destination yesterday for lunch with our friends Chris and Linda -- the Sun in Splendour pub in our old stomping ground of Notting Hill. It's a cute little place, with a curved front wall and a "secret garden" only slightly larger than our patio at home, and we had excellent Sunday roasts. I'd only been there once before, years ago, so it was nice to go back.

But that wasn't the big news from my Sunday. Remember the viney tree?

Well, it's hard to tell from this photo, but I de-vined it. I've been waiting for the council to come around and do something about it since I made my report several weeks ago, but then I woke up around 3:30 yesterday morning and thought, "You know, I can solve this problem myself!" In the hour or so that I lay awake, I basically talked myself into it. I figured I'd need a single yard-waste bag for all the hops vine trimmings and about an hour of working time. So at 8:30 a.m. I walked down the hill with my bag, a chair to stand on and some secateurs.

Two hours, a borrowed ladder and five bags later, this is how things looked. I removed all the vine except a little hat at the top of the tree that I just couldn't reach. So as it turns out, the council may still need to come around and solve that problem. Or maybe nature will take care of it. At least now, I don't think the tree will die -- although it does look a bit sorry.

Surprisingly, no one said a word to me as I worked on it. I was prepared to be questioned or even challenged but nada. Maybe all my neighbors think I'm crazy and it's best to stay well clear of me. (For the record, that's what Dave said to me too, when I asked him to come and hold the ladder for me: "You are crazy!")

I then wrote to the council tree officer with an update, so we'll see how he responds. Hopefully there's not a law against private citizens caring for publicly owned street trees. They may slap me in irons.

By the time I finished, hops were falling out of my hoodie and out of my t-shirt and I smelled so thoroughly hoppy I might as well have worked in a brewery. So it's just as well that after I took a shower, we went to the pub! (Raw hops have a somewhat pleasant smell, by the way. Kind of lemony.)

Oh, and I decided not to try to fix my broken wine glass. Even if I successfully glued it, which is doubtful, I'd never trust it -- and washing it would be a nightmare. Sometimes you just have to let go.

Olga Goes to Piccadilly

Dave's birthday surprise turned out to be an outing with the dog. He found a pub in the Sheraton Grand hotel on Piccadilly, Smith & Whistle, where canines are welcome, so we piled into a hired car and got chauffeured there for a birthday lunch.

Olga was very excited, but also not quite sure what to make of a restaurant where she could sit on the banquette. She looked like she thought she might get in trouble. While we had cocktails, we bought her a special non-alcoholic "dogtail," described as a "blend of special brewed dog beer and fresh mint." Of course, she wouldn't touch it. She had a bowl of water instead.

We ate Chicken Kiev (which we shared with the dog) and took some pictures.

Olga, however, was looking wistfully outside, and Gordon, one of Dave's co-workers, texted him unexpectedly with a sudden need for a meeting to discuss work stuff. So Gordon joined Dave at the pub and I took Olga to Green Park, across the street.

She was much happier there!

Green Park is chock-full of squirrels, and because the visitors and tourists feed them, they're fat and lethargic and trusting. I was genuinely terrified that Olga was going to catch one and do it in right before the eyes of a squad of visiting toddlers.

Fortunately that didn't happen -- she's too slow even for fat squirrels -- but she had a great time chasing them and never got discouraged.

We passed by Buckingham Palace, where we waved a paw at the Queen's corgis.

Then we headed back to the restaurant to rejoin Dave and Gordon, who by then had ironed out whatever work issues needed ironing. We got on the tube and came home.

We spent the evening watching "The Day of the Triffids," a classic 1962 sci-fi movie that I had somehow never seen. I've long been curious about it because it's featured in the theme song from the "Rocky Horror Picture Show":

And I really got hot
When I saw Janette Scott
Fight a Triffid that spits poison and kills

I wouldn't say I got hot, but I was certainly entertained. Even Dave liked it, and as a rule, he hates old movies!

Breakage

Here's what the garden looks like these days. Very autumnal, right? As you can see, the walnut tree is shedding its leaves and most of the bedding plants have gone to seed. I love this time of year.

Yesterday I kept getting helpful little alerts on my computer:

Yes, that's right, today is my birthday -- the big five-three. Why my computer felt it had to tell me that, I'm not sure.

We had a mini-celebration in my office. My co-workers gave me a snazzy card, a box of cookies and cakes from a local bakery and a nice bottle of white wine. They cleverly held out until the very end of the work day, so I thought I might sneak out without creating a fuss, but in the end it felt good to be acknowledged. Dave has something in the works for today -- some kind of midday surprise -- and I have no idea what that's about.

One bit of bad news, though:

I broke one of my wine glasses last night! (Yes, while sampling my birthday wine.) It was sitting on the floor next to the couch, and I crossed my legs and hit the glass with my heel. I was so bummed! My friend Sue gave me these glasses way back in 1991, when we both lived at the DeSoto Apartments in Tampa. They've lasted an astonishing 28 years! Now Dave and I don't have any stemware with four matching pieces.

I've toyed with fixing it. I have some super glue that might do the trick. But I think I'd then be afraid to use it.

I remember, as a kid, breaking a handle on one of our coffee mugs and gluing it on with rubber cement. My mom was using it one morning when suddenly the mug peeled away in slow motion and she was left covered with coffee, holding just the handle. She was not happy.

Some things are just not meant to be fixed. (Certainly not with rubber cement.)

Our Tardy Cactus Hangs On

The library's Christmas cactus is blooming away. This plant gets minimal (and dubious) care from the school cleaning staff but it manages to hang on and even prosper year in and year out. You may remember that several pieces of it were broken off not too long ago, and I brought them home and put them in soil to root.

Here's how those pieces look now. They're a bit behind the mother plant but they're all on their way to blooming. The leaves look slightly droopy and shriveled -- and much more purple, which I believe is a sign of a stressed plant -- but I assume that's because the roots still aren't very established. I'm just glad they've survived so far! I move the pot periodically between the bathroom (where it's more humid) and the dining room (where it gets more light).

Speaking of plants, yesterday morning I repotted the foxgloves I grew from seed. I went outside and noticed a squirrel had knocked over one of the plants, and when I checked to make sure it was OK (it was) I realized its roots were growing out the holes in the bottom of the pot. So I transplanted all six of them to bigger pots. Nothing like some last-minute gardening before work!

Oh, and speaking of work -- I can't believe I forgot to tell you this -- remember the kid who had a library book checked out since April? The one whose parents I wanted to meet with, and whose father then told me he wanted the kid to deal with the problem himself? Well, the kid came in on Monday and morning and -- gasp -- paid for his lost book! So that little issue is finally settled.

Now I have to move on to the 7th grade girl who's had nine books checked out since June.

(Sigh)

Kids are so funny. Whenever I ask one of them about an overdue book, they all say, "Oh, I know where it is." And I respond, "Well, I'm glad you know where it is, but unless you bring it back that doesn't help!"

Halloween Hijinks

It's Halloween, once again, and Dave and I will undoubtedly celebrate the way we do every year -- by turning out the lights and hiding in the back of the house to avoid trick-or-treaters.

(This is actually the way we spend most nights, but never mind.)

It's unlikely we'd get any trick-or-treaters anyway. In the eight years we've lived in England, we've never had one come to our door. But apparently, in some neighborhoods, it does happen.

Halloween isn't traditionally a big deal in England. (Despite the fact that it originated here back in the time of the ancient Celts.)

Some of our neighbors have decorated, though, as you can see from these photos. You might recognize that door above -- I photographed it last year too.

I've seen several houses displaying carved pumpkins:

The Guardian ran a story the other day about the food waste associated with carving pumpkins. I must admit, as an American, I found it a peculiar article. I understand that food waste is a serious problem, but I've always considered carving to be the primary purpose of pumpkins like those above. Eating them seems purely secondary!

I don't know anyone who makes pumpkin pie, for example, using a raw pumpkin. Most people go the easy route and opt for a can of pumpkin puree. Which obviously contains pumpkins, so I guess you could argue they'd be better off canned than carved...

Anyway, they're such killjoys over there at The Guardian. (As a subscriber, I say that with affection.)

One of my neighbors has these feet protruding from her garden -- a nod, I suspect, to the Wicked Witch of the East.

Even Mrs. Kravitz has a giant black spider web in her front window! Unfortunately I can't photograph it without looking like I'm pointing a camera into her house, and I don't want the cops called on me.

Olga doesn't know what to make of any of it.

I will acknowledge the day at school by wearing special socks, which Dave bought me, that have little jack-o-lanterns all over them. That's about all the costume I can tolerate.

Kong Retrieval Videologue

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