Train Journey Home

I'm starting to like this journey - overground from Liverpool Street to Bruce Grove. Train goes over the rooftops and the sun sets in the West as I pass by. Good view of the sky which is a bit of a luxury in the city.




Similar views, different days.

Friday Afternoon

Its been a long week.

Wednesday we had a fire evacuation - whole building trooped out. Escape stairs are a bit narrow so we on the third floor had to wait until the 1st and 2nd floors had already got out (think we would have been toast if it was a raging fire). We mustered under the third floor mustering point - a person holding a placard (printed page stuck onto a bit of cardboard box duct taped onto a broom handle) reading 3rd floor mustering. It turned out that someone on the third floor had been making toast. It set off the fire alarm. We were reminded of the protocols of the office on our return.

Friday mid-morning the community sports team landed to do their admin. Mostly this meant chatting [up the admin girls from community safety team], sitting on tables, bantering and generally causing a commotion. Their presence in proximity to the females caused other males who normally have priority to saunter over and flex their muscles. I wasn't sure which group were dominant in the end. We, the grumpy women, watching the spectacle decided we needed one of those signs that they used to have at the swimming baths - no running, diving or bombing, no heavy petting - illustrated appropriately. It would only need minor alternations to make it appropriate to the office.

Oxo Tower

Celebrating Susanna's birthday at the Oxo Tower Restaurant. We ordered a round of margaritas, unusually muddied with pineapple, fragrant but still sharp, served in wide-mouthed long stemmed glasses with salted edges. Weird foody word associations - french knickers - my instant thought. Gallery Lafayette, Paris, flesh tone net with black embroidery and scalloped edges, transparent and dainty.

All the courses were served on square dishes in groupings of three, drizzled, trailed or dotted with dressings, sauces or foam. Carefully chosen and blended flavours.

The table next to us ordered the to-share souffle. The dessert serving waiter held the spoon of walnut ice cream against the warm crown so it melted enough to slide off the spoon when thrust into the body of the pudding. Leather trousers - always suggestible and sexual, however they are worn. Normally raising concerns about them uncleaned for their lifetime able to stand on their own in a corner. Once - there was an Australian with blond dreadlocks, leather trousers, very forward in the Coal Hole on the strand. One of the first days that pubs were open all day from 11.00am. Eleanor, Gavin and I in there early. Met the Australian. He rubbed his foot up and down my calf under the table. Ages later, dark, he dragged me outside, snogging on the doorstep - the doorman told us to move on. We snogged all the way back to Acton Town, up to his flat over a shop...

Annoying all the neighbours

Actually scratch that, all the annoying neighbours is really the title of the post.

Warm weather in Autumn is lovely. Great opportunity for clearing up the garden, giving it some attention before it all starts to fall for the winter. Chinese neighbours across the garden are having a kareoke party. They start praticing early to get in good voice. Luckily for them they all sing as well as one another - nobody will feel they must hold back because they have a worse singing voice than the others. Unfortunately for us, they all sing incredibly badly. And they like to sing through a microphone so it floats across all the gardens. Cruxifying candles in the wind, careless whisper, strangely country roads, and numerous power ballads which were not quite recognisable.

My next door neighbours (family of women, nan, mum, three sisters, one boyfriend and a granddaughter) were having one of their tidy-the-house saturdays which end in a roast dinner cooked by or advised by nan. The sisters have tantrums, even though they are old enough to know better. They also have a dog who comes in for a lot of stick - always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Eventually I mowed the lawn to get some peace and quiet.

Grey Day

It was grey when I woke up. Grey continuing as I left for work. Raining by the time I got into the office. Not enough light to make me wake up fully or shake off the slight depression that inhabited my head since awaking. Drops spattered on the window of the office. Canary Wharf disappearing into a misty grey gloom. Coming home it was dark at 6.30. Getting off the train on the way home it started to rain, heavy thick rain like buckets of water being chucked out the window. Drenched. Drowned rat. Glad to be back home but hoping that going to bed early will clear the fug. Autumn is here.

Lost post

Flawed plans - forgotten notebook, scrawled the latest rambling on the back of a receipt. Something about the joys of teenage humour, two boys/youths having an elongated private joke which made me laugh but I can't remember how it went now because I screwed up all the old receipts that were floating about in my bag's wallet pocket (where I keep said wallet and change purse and USB sticks and keys) when it started feeling like drowning in little papers. Forgetting that the latest post, of which there haven't been many, was scrawled on the back of one of them. Tossed. Lost.

Stormy

Today was the sort of day that I speak to the boyfiend and he is having torrential rain and I'm having glorious sunshine even though we're in the same city but on different sides of the river.

On my way home I'm on the train that goes overground to London Bridge - good view across the London towards the North. I can see a huge traingle of dark grey cloud and in the distance over Parliament it looks like rain - misty downward lines. Round the edges is golden sunshine. Off the train walking through the station it starts raining so hard its coming through the roof and raining onto the platforms, hammering down. Standing under the bus terminous outside the station there is a downpour on one side and one of the steeling grey skys lit by bright sunshine on the other. Two rainbows form - a bright clear well defined one tightly arching and a feint one arching over it.

Nearly home at Bruce Grove the light has dropped even though it is an hour or more before dusk, the sky is dark dark grey with that weird yellow electricity tinge. I'll be lucky to get home before the deluge. I run to catch the bus, the driver kindly waits for me. As we set off a crack of lightning flashes across the underside of the clouds. And again later on. I worry about lightning striking the dead tree in my neighbour's neighbour's back yard. Before I get off the bus huge drops of hot rain start to fall. The ground is quickly soaked, puddles form fast. I get in just before I'm drenched.

Recording Life

20th century had an explosion in the mechanisms for ordinary folk to record their lives - the sepia studio photos of our grandparents (with running trophies, with siblings in white dresses with wide black sashes, wedding photos of the bride and groom); 8mm film of funny family events (funny smiling people running round in strange environments, dark colours, oddly flat); photograph albums (poorly labeled square photos with white edges, scratched, curling - mum as a child swimming in a pond wearing a woollen swimsuit, young dad leaning proudly leaning against his first car - reportedly dark and light green with chrome, or standing next to his plane in the navy, granny as a girl with long hair in ribbons, babies from all over the family, graduation pictures, yellowing and fading photos from the 70s - slightly too short flares and fake fur jackets); slides (dreaded grandad slide shows of a variety of badly-composed groups of relatives on their trips to South Africa, interspersed with pictures of the local flora, grandfather in his shorts safari suit, aunties and uncles with their feet, head or half the group chopped off the edge of the frame). This was the heyday of capturing the family's history. There are still enthusiasts from whom you can pick up a slide projector to see the old stuff. The photograph albums are tangible weighty tomes dragged out for viewing together, old stories oft told entering into the folklore of family.

Now everything is digital, throw-away, kept on the computer. I'm worried that we will loose a mass of social history because we don't back up our data well enough, or we hate all the images and trash them, or the computer busts and we loose it all, or the media will become obsolete and therefore un-accessible. I forget how nice photograph albums are.

Cycling

London's serious cyclists stream past the bus stop - all Lycra clad, rucksacks, go-faster-helmets, some with rear view mirrors on, courier bags, reflective strips, single speeds, panniers, cleats. Then a girl rides past on a sit-up-and-beg bike wearing a summer dress that is wafting up in the wind so you can see her knickers. A bit 70's flake advert.

Age Appropriate Activities

I think I'm going to die. I will be 40 next year and I've just spent lunchtime in the canteen at the Unicorn Theatre listening to a 50 year old talk to a 41 year old about getting older (this did include divulging their ages). The 50 year old was talking about clinging to his 20s in the past but now does the garden and other age appropriate activities. He still manages to get to a few gigs each year, but nothing in comparison to the number he used to go to. I look at them and they look like adults. Grown up people, who have proper magazine houses and perfectly organised lives. Adult in a way I don't think I am. I don't feel I look like them at all. I'm probably deluding myself. 41 year old was waxing lyrical about her weekend spent travelling down memory lane in Wakefield, old haunts, B&Bs... I hope I never get that old.

Open Plan Working

Plus points: swanky new office near London Bridge - close to Borough Market, better lunchtime eating, clean, new, nice lavs, cool. Negative points: lots more colleagues in an open plan space, many of whom are easily distracted and talk too loudly on the phone and to one another, there's nowhere to hide apart from the toilet.

The Flirt
So many more people, 5 floors of potential. First pass-by the kitchenette he's there at the coffee machine, chatting up some woman. "I thought we had a connection - I'm trying to send you something now..." (fingers on temples, intense thought-transmission stare into her eyes). She wasn't getting it, but seemed to enjoy the gaze. Lunch-time at the lifts, he's there waiting, chatting to another woman about her family (single parent, baby with mother, going on holiday in two weeks). After lunch, he's by the vending machine talking to Miranda...

The Shirker
Hard to hide when you're working in a huge open plan air hanger with 300 desks. Corner of my eye is caught by him popping up over his computer again. Its screen is strangely high - higher than any other. He has ants in his pants, can't sit still for more than 10 minutes. Does lots of printing which requires a trip over to the printing hub. Walks past my desk, comes back with a coffee. Half an hour later, walks past again (could be more coffee, could be a trip to the loo, could be a fag break). By lunchtime there have been at least that number of passbys. After lunch there is time for a bit of desk-visiting around the building with colleagues from the team who are spread around.

Shed

The shed of the previous owners had a certain amount of Little House on the Prairie charm but in the two years that I owned (and neglected) it fell into a state of dilapidation from which it was unsalvagable - what had already been a leaning and vaguely rotting structure, began to loose roofing, shiplaps and got woodworm. It became the home of a local stray cat and a snail haven.

Pops decided to buy me a replacement one for my birthday. I ordered it online. Six weeks for delivery. Instructions said they would only put it up on a level base.

Tore the old one down - wood worms fell out, water sodden and underneath it was propped on broken bits of paving stones. I decided to build a plinth to raise the level up away from the rain. Built it from breeze blocks and bricks. Amateur night bricklaying. I made it as level as I could manager and prayed that they wouldn't look too closely.

Two weeks ago it arrived on the back of a lorry. The driver and his work-placement nephew put it together in 15 minutes. It was very blond pine. In my head I was thinking about Derek Jarman's house in Dungeness - black wood, yellow window frames, sculptures made of rusted metal, driftwood and beach finds. I stained it walnut first - nice but too woody, not dark enough. Over-stained it with black ash. Liked it better but then gave it a second coat. Now its got to be a mini dungeness house.

Coming Home

After driving home from Northumberland with my Dad, dropping him off at his house (unloading the car of his belongings), I got back home. Stepping through the door it felt alien, not like home at all. The wooden floors were echoey and hard sounding. The place was empty (of people). Closed off to the street (I purposefully have the paper blinds closed at the front windows always). It didn't feel like home. I wasn't sure why that was, perhaps I like having family around me all the time (despite having needed some personal space when I was away with them), perhaps I like a fuller house than it was at that second. Perhaps it was the sense of place. I've felt strangely dislodged on coming back. Drawn to something I have never been drawn to before. Very much enjoyed the sea, walking on the rocks everyday, collecting stuff. Liked the scenery. Liked the sense of freedom (particularly from work I think).

Its taken a week to get back into the swing of regular life. Going back to work wasn't half as bad as I was imagining. Home is starting to feel a bit more homely. The boyfiend is upstairs asleep - I'm waiting for the gasman and my new shed (Dad bought it for me for my birthday last may)...

Northumberland

My mother grew up in Northumberland. Her father was a manager for the Cooperative, managed a farm at Hetton Steads. According to the couple my sister spoke to when she and I drove over there, he was a well-respected manager, good to his workforce, strong and fair, morally upright and religious. The farm used to employ 90 staff, today it is worked by 12. Grandad would walk up the hill to work with the sheep (he liked sheep - when he retired to the north west Scottish coast he had sheet on his croft).



When we used to visit our grandparents we would stay with them in their house. They'd built an extension on the side that faced over the loch - with large windows all the way round three sides - good for looking out to sea, over the hillside and across the hamlet. Granny would spot deer on the hillside, or the QE2 passing by on the sea. We'd play whist (with the curtains closed on Sundays so the neighbours wouldn't see) if it rained and in the evenings. Granny would always have an ace up her sleeve, play it with aplomb. She liked to win.

On the window sill there were photographs. One of my favourites was of the five children arranged on the drive of the house at Hetton Steads. I always thought it was at the front. The two eldest stood behind, the three youngest on chairs in the front. Auntie Jennifer very elegant in 50's finery, beautiful dress, hair and lipstick. Uncle John, the littlest ones in matching dresses, and mother. The house looked grand and huge. I was surprised at the size of it - it seemed less impressive than I had always imagined it to be. And faced away from the road over the land.

Amy and I drove past the school they used to go to (primary, before being sent off to boarding school). Its a b&b now. Then we went up to St Cuthberts Caves - Uncle John told her they used to go over there often. We sheltered in what we thought was the cave when the rains came in but later discovered we were totally not in the right spot having taken the wrong animal path when the signposts stopped - doh!)

I can see why our mother loved this place - the landscape is beautiful, green, luscious.

Sunny Days



Couple of sunny days we drove up to the sandy beaches to dig sand castles, swim (some of the younger contingent) and sunbathe. First visit we just got the suntan lotion rubbed in and the sun went behind the clouds for good - good hour worth of shade-bathing instead. Nephew cried when he got sand in his sandwich. He discarded it a short distance from the rug. Seagulls swooped in for it.

Craster

Tide comes in and goes out. At the low tide a beach is revealed below the rocks that are being smoothed into curvaceous smooth shapes by the sea. Cormorants, gulls and house martins. Three days in exhaustion is setting in. Probably a mixture of relaxing from work, sea air and different waking hours. Blogging from the kitchen table with the french doors open and the sea lapping up just beyond the fence. Occassional walkers pass by interrupting the seaview (the coastal path is just outside the fence).

Conference at Excel Centre



Brave new world of docklands. All covered walkways, elevated, self-driving trains and hotels build of lego. Wide pedestrian routes and brick pathways in various designs. Old warehouses cleaned up with glass extensions and deep moats left from the days of being dockyards. In the glaring sun the dirty film of air in the distance from the city sits on the horizon. Feels devoid of enough people to make it feel like a real part of the city. Over the main dock is a development of apartments built in identical modern-in-the-style-of-something-old houses. Great view from them. Great location on the side of the water. Some years to come before it will look anything more than a dormatory. Along the side of the docks the massive Stothert & Pitt dock cranes stand erect in pairs - reminders of what once was a hive of industrial activity. An oversized bronze statue of 3 dock workers loading up a palet to be lifted off by a crane is dwarfed by the buildings, cranes & size of the pedestrian walkways. A forest of newly planted trees are miniature. Evenly planted like in the Parisian Tuileries. Eventually they will gain some stature in their surroundings. So finally, I turn around and enter the Excel Centre for the conference...

Essential Dressing

Big thick black extra long false eyelashes. Eyes looking out from below them - surrepticiously almost as if wearing sunglasses - not realising how much can be seen. Very vampish, 60s look. Apart from the false lashes she is wearing a velor tracksuit and bright yellow teeshirt, and has just been to Aldi's. When did false eyelashes become one of the can't-be-seen-out-in-public-without items?

Luke Jackson - Goodbye London

Luke sent me this video that he made to his song Goodbye London. Watch it - I think it has a londoner's feel to it - that which other people may find ugly has value. It draws out some of the very specific things that I love about London - Eros in the dark, the lit advertising in Picadilly, Hamstead Heath, funny graffiti stencilled onto walls (fleeting imagery that stays until it is washed off - sometimes in between becoming iconic).

Jersey Tiger

In the heat of the day we sat outside Petitou on Choumert Road in Peckham (they have a lovely huge plain tree in the corner of their plot that makes lovely dappled shade) eating cheese on toast with chives and drinking fresh squeezed grapefruit juice. The windows are surrounded by walls covered in dark green tiles. On the tiles was a Jersey Tiger Moth - large triangular with distinctive black and white markings. When he flew off his inside wings were bright orangy red. Remarkable. Never seen anything like it before. Love summer. Love wildlife in London.