Oh, Rats!

My story today is not for the squeamish. Musophobes and PETA members, look away now.

Several weeks ago, I began hearing scratching behind the wall or floorboards beside my bed. I assumed it was coming from outside, where we have some potted plants -- maybe squirrels were jumping around out there. But then, last week, while weeding the patio, I found a small hole in the exterior wall. The bricks had aged and apparently partly crumbled away next to an air vent leading to the crawl space beneath the house.

I knew something was living in there, so I set up my garden camera one night. In the morning, here's the image we saw:

Yep. Not mice, not squirrels, but plain old urban rats. Two of them. One would stay in the hole, and the other would run out and find things in the garden -- earthworms seemed to be a favorite -- and bring them back to the nest. (I actually have a five-minute video, but I'll spare you.)

This shouldn't have surprised me. You may remember we've occasionally had what we believed to be mice -- this is an old house with lots of nooks and crannies -- and I photographed a rat on our bird feeder last year. But I thought they were living outdoors, in the garden.

Coincidentally, that evening, Dave was making dinner and planned to use a small bag of baby potatoes I'd bought that week at the grocery store. He opened the pantry to find an empty, gnawed bag, all ten or twelve little potatoes gone!

So not only were the rats in the house, they were in the kitchen. And we can't have that. I am an animal lover through and through, but I have my limits. That's a health risk to us. The rats had signed their death warrant.

We decided to call an exterminator, and found one who advertised humane trapping -- for an extra charge, they said, they'd take the animal to a "rural area" and release it. We thought this was kind of funny -- they probably just take it out to the van and club it over the head -- but I was adamant that I did not want poison. I was afraid dying rats would escape into the garden and get eaten by something else, contaminating the food chain and killing a predator like a fox or owl. So we called them.

Unfortunately, all this unfolded on Friday, which was a holiday. By the time midday Monday came around Dave still hadn't heard back from them, and I'd gone to work. Dave, feeling the situation was urgent, called another exterminator -- a much more traditional one. He came right away and spread poison in the rat hole and under the cabinets in the kitchen. He blocked the hole so the animals couldn't get back outside.

He told Dave that he believed the bird feeders were our problem, and recommended we remove them.

Unfortunately, this has created a complete nightmare for me. For two nights now, I've heard the rats trying to get out of the hole, and I am sick about what we are doing to them. I'm completely torn up about it. Last night I seriously considered opening the hole just to get their frantic gnawing noises to stop, but I didn't because I knew they'd probably already eaten some of the poison and would potentially take it out into the wider world. We're now committed to our course and have to just stick with it.

In retrospect, I wish we'd just bought big ol' snap traps and handled the problem ourselves. I think we only have a couple of rats, not a serious infestation, and at least with a snap trap death is immediate. Apparently these poisons take days, and then they're lying around under the house (with the dead animals) forever afterwards. This is EXACTLY THE SITUATION I DID NOT WANT!

So I'm not sleeping, and I'm wrestling with all kinds of horrifying images and feelings. It's not Dave's fault, really -- he just wanted to solve the problem and he is far less conflicted about it than I am. ("I have opposable thumbs," he says.) I'm not sure he understands my reaction, and honestly, it probably is silly and self-indulgent to be so upset.

For what it's worth, the experts say humanely trapped rodents that are released elsewhere rarely survive anyway. I may go buy some big snap traps today in an effort to get the job done faster. And once these rats are gone, I'm considering picking up and disposing of all that poison, or at least as much of it as I can collect. I believe the council will take it as hazardous waste.

Meanwhile, we're communicating with the maintenance company to get the hole permanently fixed.

I'm sorry I've inflicted all this on you, but I had to tell the tale and get it off my chest.

(Top photo: Some chalk art on a log at Hampstead Heath.)

A Yarn Rainbow and Luddite Technology

One thing I realized about going back to work -- it consumes a lot of my day, leaving me less time to think about what I'm going to blog. (Scanning books for library inventory really isn't worth a post, although I confess I do love it. It's solitary, quiet work that fulfills my inherent need to organize.) So, anyway, here are some recent iPhone photos!

I thought this was an interesting twist on all the rainbow posters and murals thanking the NHS -- one made of yarn.

Here's Olga posing in front of a bush in Mrs. Kravitz's front garden. I don't remember what this plant is called, but we have one too. Ours is much less impressive than Mrs. Kravitz's.

I liked the lights on this Land Rover, made to resemble smiley faces.

Follow the arrows to the obviously groovy basement flat!

Found on Hampstead Heath -- the rare orange-peel lobster.

I came across this car on a recent dog walk -- it's a Triumph Herald, made between 1959 and 1971. (I think it's fairly brave to leave a convertible parked on a London street with its top down, even in broad daylight.)

I found several of these rocks under some trees on a Hampstead street. I left them there -- we all need this reminder right about now, don't we?

When I was unwrapping magazines in the library Monday, I came across this advertisement, which proves that everything old is new again! I love the ad copy, obviously aimed at a generation for whom a manual typewriter is a novel invention: "NO COMPUTER REQUIRED! This neat machine requires no power, is always at hand and is complete with all you need to start your work straight away." It even comes with its own carrying case (they act like that's novel, too) -- all for the not-so-low price of £215, or $264!

And finally, one of the pubs I pass on my walk to work -- which I've featured on the blog several times -- is not only closed but seems well and truly fortified. I hope they're planning to reopen when all this virus stuff is over.

Bottle Bonanza

Yesterday on my way to work I passed a pile of rubbish in the street with some clay flowerpots sitting on top. I thought, "I could use those!" So I grabbed them, and when I did I noticed a nearby container, also in the rubbish pile. It was in a box along with some cans of old paint, and covered with grime and leaves as if it had spent years in someone's garage or shed. On the top were several odd-looking brown bottles.

I realized they were old Bovril bottles. Bovril is a beef extract that can be either made into a hot drink or eaten as a spread, sort of like Marmite. (I've never had it but apparently it's still being made.) And beneath the Bovril bottles were other parcels wrapped in old tissue paper, containing what felt like glass objects. I picked up the whole container and took it to work with me.

It wasn't until I got home in the evening that I had a chance to unwrap everything and take a closer look.

There were about 30 little antique bottles, clearly someone's erstwhile collection. They looked like pharmaceutical bottles, maybe -- long and thin. Only a few (aside from the Bovril bottles, which are all marked) had embossed words on them. One said "Breidenbach London" and one said "Hindes." Breidenbach was apparently a Victorian perfume maker.

Here are the Bovril bottles, once they'd been cleaned up a bit. There are four sizes. I read on this fascinating blog (and how did I not know about a blog specializing in Victorian trash?) that they're probably from between 1918 and 1930. From what I can tell they have machine-made lips, as opposed to hand-tooled lips, and were originally sealed with corks.

What a fascinating haul! And I'm so glad I got to it before the rubbish men. I can't imagine why someone tossed out such old and interesting objects. It would have been a shame to have them ground up into recycling. Those are my favorites in the top photo, sitting on our windowsill. It makes me wonder what else is in that pile. If it's still there this morning I may take a closer look! (Dave will love that.)

And oh yeah, being back at work? Well, it felt great. I had a lot to do and it kept me busy all day -- and yet I only interacted with five or six people because the school is mostly locked up and dark. It's an ideal working situation if you're trying to avoid contagion! I began our book inventory, processed all the magazines that had arrived in the last couple of months, and neatened things up overall. There's plenty more to do so I'll be busy for the rest of this week at least.

The main downside, as I see it, is that there's no lunch available in the building because the cafeteria is closed -- I had to run out to a nearby Pret (amazingly still open) for a takeaway lunch that cost me almost £10. I'll probably pack a lunch today. Also, because the coffee machines in the staff lounge are turned off, the only available coffee is instant. I suppose I can cope with Nescafe. It reminds me of Africa -- when I traveled through West Africa in the early '90s Nescafe was often the only available coffee!

Those are minor complaints, I know, compared to all the problems afflicting the world.

Lockdown Art and a Cold Snap

Someone has converted this boarded-up restaurant around the corner into an art project called "40 Days -- Lock Down." Poems are laid out horizontally, one for each day, and numbered 1 through 39. Number 40 is still blank, and beside that it says, "End...?"

I haven't read all the poems, but here's a random example. I love how the grammar police intervened on this one.

Our lockdown isn't ending, but it's also not quite a lockdown anymore. We're not sure what it is, to be honest. The government has decided to change its official "Stay Home" demand to "Stay Alert," which has prompted a lot of head-scratching. Boris has said that people who can't work from home should now go to work, and we can all be outdoors more (exercising for unlimited times and even sunbathing -- not that I ever sunbathe). There will be a phased reopening of schools and shops beginning June 1. Restaurants and pubs, though, will stay closed until at least July.

This announcement comes at a perfect time, since I'm due to return to work this morning. We'll see what that's like. Fortunately, I live close enough to walk, so I don't have to brave public transport (still not recommended). And most of the school is still closed so I shouldn't encounter many people.

Apparently there's a guy walking around North London wearing a medieval plague doctor outfit. I'm glad some people are being creative in these crazy days, making life interesting for the rest of us.

Our foxgloves, which you may remember I grew from seed last summer, have just started flowering. I thought they were supposed to be apricot-colored, but this one (above) is clearly more purple. It also looks a little different from the other plants -- more robust and darker green. I think some mutant seeds got into that packet.

Our cold snap has arrived. Right now it's 40ºF, and I was lounging on the lawn in shorts only yesterday morning! Temperatures began to drop in the early afternoon and steadily plummeted. It's certainly a dramatic change, considering we just finished the sunniest and one of the warmest Aprils on record.

I brought two of our five dahlias inside just to hedge my bets. I'm sure they'd be fine outside, because we're not getting frost, but I didn't want to lose all of them in a worst-case scenario. I also brought in our new lupines because they're quite tall and we were getting gusty winds yesterday evening. (We bought a second lupine, a hybrid called Rachel de Thame, after a well-known gardening television presenter.) Plant drama!

I called my mom yesterday to wish her Happy Mother's Day. We had a quick conversation -- about ten minutes, and once again I got three "I love yous" and lots of laughter. She seemed to think it was pretty funny that I was unable to send her flowers. Mom has become quite a character in her old age.

My Old Lady

Yesterday was warm and sunny, so Olga and I ventured out to Hampstead Heath in the morning, starting earlier than normal to avoid bank holiday weekend crowds. We were somewhat successful. There were quite a few people out and about, but we were able to steer clear of them.

Above, Olga poses with the mysterious tumulus in the background. She rolled in grass and rolled in mud and carried her Kong and had a good time overall.

Although she was pretty energetic once we got to the Heath, getting her there took a while. She walks much more slowly these days, and there's a lot of sniffing and exploring along the way. Walking an older dog is an exercise in patience. At one point, we passed a little boy with his mother, and the boy acted frightened. I heard his mother say, "Don't worry. When it was younger that dog might have been scary, but now I think it's quite old." Indeed! I was indignant on Olga's behalf! She's only ten at most.

On the theory that she may be having some joint pain, we've ordered glucosamine dog treats, and we're going to see if those help her move a little more freely. I did give her paracetamol when we got back home, as I sometimes do after a long walk.

We went back to Athlone House to see the azaleas and rhododendrons, even though they've already faded a bit. Here's a close-up of the yellow one I mentioned last weekend. A rhodie, if I'm not mistaken.

Some interesting finds along the way:

This old bottle cap is interesting only because it's stamped "7 1/2 p" on the top. Surely that's not the price?! There's no sign of any maker or specific product, but that seems ridiculously cheap for any bottled liquid, even for back in the day. Actually, it looks like it might say "ED 7 1/2 p" -- I wonder if it's some kind of duty or tax? Do any of my British friends know?

Halfpenny coins haven't been minted since 1984, so perhaps that's an indication of its age.

Here are some other little odds and ends -- a few pottery chips and something that looks like a tiny amphora or jug. I think it once had a handle, on the right, but that's now broken off. I wonder what the story is there? It's solid, whatever it is, so it's just for show.

Last night Dave and I dined al fresco in the garden once again, with another dinner from Hide. It's a nice way to do something special during these crazy days! The menu this time: A crab and asparagus starter, poussin with fregola and romaine salad, and sticky toffee pudding for dessert. Oh, and a bottle of excellent Chardonnay!

Apparently we're in for a bit of a cold snap. The temperatures are supposed to drop to a low of 41ºF tonight and 38ºF tomorrow. I was thinking I might bring in the dahlias, with their brand-new tender growth, but I'm not sure that's cold enough to do them any damage, especially on our patio. I might just risk it.

George or Charles?

While on my long London walk on Monday, I came across these interesting sculptures in Golden Square -- "Big Bra" and "Corset" by Kalliopi Lemos. They're part of a series that aims to "deconstruct existing symbols and stereotypes" of femininity, and "express the need for women to fortify themselves with armaments of defense in order to cope with gender injustice." (According to the placard on display next to the sculptures.)

Golden Square is kind of a weird little place. Apparently it was originally the site of a plague pit, or mass grave for victims of the Bubonic Plague, as well as a grazing area for horses. One permanent resident of the park is this statue:

Supposedly it depicts either George II (the plinth says "Georgius II") or, according to the information board in the park, Charles II. At any rate, he looks a little...surprised. He's been standing there since 1753, and perhaps a couple of centuries of pigeon poo are partly responsible for damaging his complexion.

Yesterday was the 75th anniversary of VE Day, and there were socially distant events to mark the occasion, but I must admit I didn't pay much attention. There's too much drama now, and I've never been completely comfortable with celebrations of nationalism and military might. (Let me just point out, though, that Vera Lynn is STILL ALIVE! She's 103!)

Our upstairs neighbor, the Russian, got out his pressure washer yesterday and cleaned the steps and sidewalk in front of the house. He borrowed our hose (and water supply) to do it, and I thought it might take him an hour or two. But no -- he was out there for 7 1/2 hours! He cleaned not only the concrete but the rocks in the front garden, a row of wooden garden edging I didn't even know was there, his parking space and everything else even vaguely associated with our property. God only knows how much water he used. I suppose I should be appreciative, but I thought it was just weird. Do I care if there's dirt on the sidewalk? No, I do not. It's the sidewalk.

I told him to save the valerian growing along the steps, which he did, but I could see he hated me for it. I think if he had his way the front garden would contain only a few precisely trimmed shrubs that he could clip every weekend with tiny scissors.

I already mentioned that we arranged to have the council come on Monday to collect and discard our old patio furniture. We had a couple of items, though, that they refused to take -- a glass shower door that we removed from the bathroom when we had it painted, and a 13-foot-long plastic pipe that used to run up the side of the house. They said it was "construction waste" and they couldn't handle it for health & safety reasons. Well, yesterday, we called a private firm and they came and carried it away for the insane price of £60, and hopefully they didn't just drive it out to some woodland and dump it. (The council isn't charging much to remove the furniture, so overall I figure we're paying a fairly reasonable price to get rid of everything.)

Earlier this week I tried to order flowers for my mom for Mother's Day, which in America is this Sunday. I used an online network of florists, but they sent me an e-mail saying they were unable to deliver Sunday and to call them. So I did, and it turns out they actually couldn't deliver at all unless I provided another address, because they can't deliver to assisted living facilities due to coronavirus. Well, I didn't really have an alternative -- I mean, my mom lives in assisted living and she can't even have visitors at the moment, so I just cancelled the order. Flowers are a rip-off anyway. I'll call her tomorrow and tell her the whole story and she'll have a good laugh.

Speaking of pigeons, as we were above, have you ever seen a pigeon with a pink tail? I saw this one on the way home from the grocery store yesterday. Definitely unlike any other pigeon I've ever seen! Both of its legs were banded, so it must be privately owned or an object of study by someone. Pigeon owners have been known to dye their birds, but this wasn't garish pink -- more like a lovely salmon color -- and it doesn't seem dyed. There's a type of pink pigeon native to Mauritius, but it doesn't look like that either. Anyway, this is just an iPhone photo, but I hope I see it again sometime when I have my good camera.

Patio Weeding and Attack Dog Olga

A few weeks ago I posted some of the rainbow tributes to the NHS that I'd seen around the neighborhood. Here's another -- artfully subtle!

We all applauded again last night, standing out in front of our houses. I do it, and it's a nice show of national unity, but I must admit it feels a little strange. We all stand there clapping and looking around and smiling at our neighbors, but I think we're supposed to clap for five minutes -- which is an eternity if you're applauding in the street. Most of us stop well shy of that amount of time. I can't help thinking what the NHS really needs, instead of (or in addition to) applause, is money.

Can you stand another picture of the viney tree? Now that it has shed its blossoms, we can see what it really looks like. I love the reddish hue of the leaves -- this tree has a lot of pigmentation. It's somewhat hunched from bearing the weight of that massive vine, but I wonder if it will eventually stand more upright? Every few days, as I walk by with Olga, I pull little vine sprouts from around the base.

The flat seed pods of the honesty in the garden are developing nicely. I love the way these plants turned out. This was a good experiment in wild seed-growing.

And check this out -- yesterday morning I discovered a petunia growing in one of our geranium pots! This is why I don't pull weeds too assiduously. Every once in a while, something that looks like a weed proves itself to be something else! I guess one of our petunias set seed in this pot at some point.

Despite my relative tolerance for weeds, yesterday I spent a lot of time weeding the patio. It was beginning to look way too messy out there, with vegetation growing between all the patio stones. I left some growth to keep things interesting -- forget-me-nots, yellow corydalis, dog violets and some lady's mantle that seeded from our garden plants. I don't want the patio to look too clean. I'll share a photo once we dispose of the old patio table (on Monday!) and get the new one set up.

I took Olga to the cemetery, and on the way she embarrassed me by outright attacking a much smaller little mop of a white dog. Of course she wasn't on her lead, and the white dog was, which made me look even more like an irresponsible dog owner. I don't know what prompted her. We were on a narrow fenced path, and I suspect the little one growled as they passed each other, as little dogs often do -- but still, Olga usually just ignores them and goes on her way. After we pulled them apart the other dog owner said, "That dog should be on a lead!" All I could do is lamely explain that this is very unusual for her. Who knows what goes on inside a dog's brain?

As Dave said, when I related the story, Olga is becoming a cranky old lady. I may in fact need to keep her on a lead more often.

If you want some interesting reading, here are a few recommendations:

-- I don't care much about Val Kilmer, but the New York Times had an excellent article about him and his career by Taffy Brodesser-Akner. I've read other pieces by her and I love her writing.

-- The Times also had an interesting article about the ghost dogs of the Amazon, a secretive species of canine living in the South American jungles. Apparently they're almost never spotted in the wild. They've only been captured on remote cameras by researchers.

-- And finally, after a caller reported an escaped lion in the farmlands of Kent, the police called out officers and a helicopter only to learn their quarry was a sculpture.