Worn Out Today

Rising late I expected a decent quiet day.  This was ruined by the banging of the plumber and his mate downstairs and the information that I was leaking!  It was flat Number two that reported a leak a week or two ago.  John and his mate came round attempting to locate leak.  We looked under sink, saw nothing, behind washing machine and saw nothing, concluded it was Number 5 at fault and they were out.  I heard no more until the banging today.  
In fact the plumber was at Number 1.  they had a leak also, they thought it the boiler, the plumber thought the boiler was off anyway and replaced it.  In doing so he realised I was leaking.  On inspection, much better than before, a small but persistent leak was coming from around the U-bend bits.  
Having banged and thumped at Number 1 satisfactorily he wished to check mine, then look into Number 5's bathroom.  He looked at mine, decided a refit was required, John will say rude words, I canny imagine what the landlord will say, and that is now in the process.  More next Tuesday.
Plumber goes to Number 5 who has gone out so he will be back next week also.  More banging expected.

In the midst of all this I received a new scanner.  A small device to transfer slides onto digital.  A very good idea and something I have been wanting for a long time.  The problem was they ranged between £50 to 80 and that was beyond me.  The other day however, while scanning the Online Oxfam Shop I found one for £29.  It arrived during the banging time and gave me something to annoy me all day.  
Once I had worked out how to make it work, once I discovered the lead from the plug is two feet too short, and once I had dusted down the old box of slides I discovered the colours have faded.  Whether this was because of where they have been kept or simply age, it is 30 years since I went to Jerusalem, I know not but it was time consuming beginning to put them through the scanner.  Some have been done, some are not very good, and yet I may get a couple of decent hots if I turn them into B&W when the colours do not succeed.
Interestingly, among the debris in the box was an SD card. This contained photos from years ago which a previous owner had attempted to digitalise.  Most of them are not very good, almost all upside down, reversed, but some are very good indeed and may be made use off.   
No siesta today, no decent food either, hopefully I will get a decent sleep now...

Stupid Man in the Dark Rain

"Only a stupid person goes out into the dark, in the rain.  Especially when there is no need to do so"

You are talking to a stupid person. 

It crossed my mind that as darkness falls shop lights stand out, go take pictures.  Great idea!  There was no rain when this thought came to me.  However, out I went, into the downpour, cheerfully splashing through the puddles that arise on pathways that are supposed to be flat but are anything but.  Crossing the park meant meeting many such puddles and in the morning I suspect many an individual will grumble loudly as they walk the dog before the skies turn to gray.

As the 'rush hour' had ended, much improved by an accident at the roundabout that ceased almost all movement for an hour, much hot air in the atmosphere as people made their very slow way home, as folks had mostly gone and the rain drove others indoors the streets were quite empty.  This was helpful.

  

I could have remained wandering for a while and ventured down to the big church where the local candidates, including Mr Cleverley, a Tory who does not live up to his name but has reached cabinet level, is appearing.  This goes against the grain for Boris who I note has been replaced at Channel 4 TVs Leaders debate by a melting block of ice set in a Conservative Party symbol.  Boris is not keen on meeting people who ask questions.  Andrew Neil at the BBC has interviewed two leaders, a third on the way, but Boris cannot make a date?  His own constituency has not seen him for a while and he refuses to meet at their local debate.  Possibly he ought to take up running, he is good at that.

However there is a good chance he will lose at Uxbridge, maybe he wishes to lose?

  

Listening again to the Beatles 'Rubber Soul' album I was struck by the passing of time.  In 'You won't see me' there is the line 'When I call you up your line's engaged.'  A reminder of the time when to stop an incoming call you took the phone of the hook.  That does not happen today.  I suppose what they call 'voicemail' takes over or just ignoring the call, numbers of callers often displayed these days.  It just made me think how long ago this tremendous album was made.   December 1965 it appeared, long before we were born, yet it remains a great album, I think George claimed it was his favourite.  I read in the dreadful online 'Daily Express' that John thought the 'White Album' best, mostly because Paul disliked it as he was not in charge!  Paul preferred 'Sergeant Peppers' in which he was in charge.  Hmmm... Ringo preferred the second side of 'Abbey Road,' but I am not sure what he thought of the first, "Peace and Love," probably. 

Standing in the shop doorway I was a wee bit tempted to enter the 'Swan' but as it appeared only three people were making use of this recently re-opened pub I deferred.  That spot is where the market began in 1199 with a variety of locals dropping stuff in that area and trying to flog it to one and all.  King John was pleased as he got the taxes from it.  At some time a pub arose, when I cannot discover, but round the back a later addition is dated 1590 but whether it was a pub or a dwelling for one of the rich I know not.  I think myself the house came first and the pub later, it does not look like a success at the moment.

The problem with social media is that it does not go away.  Whereas in times past it was difficult to find something written in a newspaper or said privately in a pub or even at a public meeting, a search of past papers takes time, nothing can be proved in 'pub talk' and things said at meeting are difficult to obtain conclusive evidence about, today anything said can be fund quite easily.  So, daily we are finding candidates from all parties being hounded out because of things said many years ago in the press or on social media, no wonder so many false names abound online!  Boris apparently claiming single mothers produce poor quality children is a case in point, his child, the one he ignores and pretends does not exist, is now all over the social media, but not the Tory press, I wonder why?

I must go and delete my history...

I am not convinced by the sparkling town Christmas lights.  This does not reflect a booming economy.  Or indeed a council or town centre willing to spend money to encourage visitors.

It has been mentioned that Trump is visiting troops in Afghanistan, telling them the Taliban want a deal.  It may never cross his mind what the troops think of his visit, privately.  They can now tell the folks back home they have sat near the President of the United States, many relatives will ask "Where was your gun?"

"TAXI!" 

Time for home, this rain gets everywhere, even in my pockets...

 

Day Trip to the 'Grove.'

The train arrived around about noon at Liverpool Street.  A peaceful journey for a Saturday, one with no rail engineering on our line to hinder us, somewhat unusual at the weekends.  The sun shone, the hottest day of the year they say.

Grabbing a couple of quick shots of the crowds milling around the station and remembering the grime covered building of the not too distant past I grabbed the 'Oyster' card I had been given and headed for the 'Tube.'

  
The London Underground, the smell of er the Tube, the rush of air as trains arrive or leave, the squeal of wheels,the panic to board before the doors close, always someone just too late!  No-one notices.  The sudden increase in speed as the train rushes from one station to another, the jerk as the connection fails, bodies swinging from side to side, not so much swinging during commuter rush hour obviously.  The lack of air, yesterday the oppressive heat, voices talking in unknown languages, women, usually Spanish, talking very loudly, all creating an atmosphere difficult to replicate.

 
Notting Hill Gate, nothing like the film which somehow managed to avoid any black people appearing, but does on Saturdays gather together the tourists and the show-offs, dressed to kill, to the market.

Being lunchtime the pubs and trendy overpriced restaurants were full, I hesitated to think what price a pint would be around here, and struggled through the mass of tourists desperate to see the sights so long read about in tourist guides and seen on foreign TV shows.  My cynical years tell me such sights are not what are presented by well paid er, presenters, but still we go and they come and get in the locals way, hindering traffic and hopefully spending their money as if it meant nothing to them.  
I spent nothing.

As you know the top end of Portobello Road contains a row of little houses like these.  One is available for you at a mere £3 million ono.  I liked the plants growing around the house here offering a little protection from the tourists although many were photographing the houses and fantasising their next 'never to happen' move.     

George lived a few doors down from this house at one time.  He did get around, Empire serving in Burma was it? Paris, the Outer Hebrides, and this house which I suspect he rented as folks did then.  I wonder if people knock on the door and request a peek around?  I suspect I know what the answer would be...

This sign has intrigued me for years, only now do I realise it is carved into the wall which explains its long life.  I had a quick look for info but so far have discovered nothing re the man, the 1851 census has not show anything so I will have to look further.  In 1851 I suspect this road was still a muddy path to the farm at the far end, certainly pigs were being kept in Westbourne Grove at this time by those living in hovels, not buildings such as this.

Not much has changed down Portobello since I was here last  The 'Pink Fairy' selling Afghan coats in 1970 and silver jewellery in the 80s has long since departed.  Most shops look the same but owners have gone and new ones have come, prices remain devious.  'Alice's' once sold ex-army dress uniform to trendy types in the 60's yet has survived the slings and arrows of outrageous governments and remains the same colour as before.  The expressions on view have not changed either.

 
This end of the road has always been where the expensive stalls are found.  It is the far end where folks such as I looked for bargains.  In between came the fruit stalls with their crooked owners, often slappers I found, ready to overcharge for spoilt fruits.  At the far end we could see the stallholders who know their business scouting for bargains to take back to the top end, once burnished up they would offer a decent profit.  I looked for things I needed, but often it was possible to find things cheap that you cannot live without, even if you don't need them.  Too far for my knees today so we remained at the top end among the fancy people.  The lead soldiers on display were once popular with the middle classes children, others could not afford them.  Today these would be banned as dangerous for kids.  I shoved through the crowd to get a picture as a voice spoke at the far side "No, not Russian madam, 'Prussian' you see he has a Picklehaube helmet."  I did not hang around to hear the fantasy price he was going to ask for.

  
'Finch's' on the corner, a pub I once spent time in around 1971.  The place usually had a fiddler, a box player, sax or trumpeter or whatever jamming in the corner.   A hazy smell would often appear and the barman was desperate to clear it out before the 'fuzz' crashed in killing his profits.  We arrived one night when A large Black African was arguing with a small Asian man, both known to us.  We gently interfered and ended the slagging match before the wee man got dealt with. "I say what I think," said the Asian, "I don't care what he says, I say what I think."  His face was a mass of bruises, a cut here and there, a plaster, a bruise.  I heard myself mutter "Sometimes tact is required."  It was a great wee place then in the far off days of yore.  A bit ordinary now I suspect.  

That year I began as a volunteer shifting folks from one flat to another.  The charity owned several of these buildings, I doubt they do so now, and the people we moved usually went from the 5th floor in one building to the 3rd floor in another, or vice-versa.  I remember the ease in which we carted large objects up and down stairs then!  I also stayed for a while in the basement, sorry 'garden flat, of the last house in the picture.  I suspect it would cost £500,000 today.  There again the previous tenant to us had painted the front room black and left a skeleton image hanging behind the door.  Hmmm I wonder what went on there...  Opposite on the shop wall someone had scrawled 'Get high on dynamite!'  Graffiti that remained there for many years.

As London expanded in the second half of the 19th century these buildings appeared and Westbourne Grove was a shopping centre of high repute.   These 'Upstairs, Downstairs' houses were popular but they did not go much further north at the time.  The wealthy stopped about here and further north the lower classes were moved in.  Until recent gentrification it remained that way.  An entire building might be available for sale but usually these flats go from between £500,000 to double that and above.  It appears however the market has reached a point where it can no longer sustain such prices.  I will wait until it falls considerably.

  
By the 1880'sthe area was at its height, the  streets flowed with well dressed women annoying badly paid shop girls everywhere while trawling from one shop to another on their way to leaving their 'carte de visite' at the home of someone of importance.  A bit more elegant than a text I think.  The shops today I note are no less expensive and 'exclusive.'  The prices are made to make you think you have made it when you pay over the top for run of the mill clobber.  People of course fall for this, increase the price and people think it of a higher standard, life is often deceitful.

Now if you have followed so far you, like me, need a break!  Here it is.

Now, back to work...

These shops have stood here for well over a  hundred and odd years.  While the Post Office is now something that I could not understand and the shop that once sold art nouveau lamps has gone there are many places where the silly girl can look her best and pay through the nose for it.  The lamp shop had many exquisite young ladies, dressed, or usually undressed, in Edwardian or 1920's style.  These usually were lamps of some sort but for the girls sake it is nice to know it is cooler in the shade.

I eventually reached my destination, to the great pleasure of my knees.  I spent many years in this church building.  Eventful years for the most part with several difficulties.  God was there and much happened.  In time all that ended and a new thing happened, many moved on and God continues his work in a new way here.  The building was renovated giving a huge collection of rooms, large and very small.  The ministers wife's training as an architect helped with the design.  Tremendous use of rooms and the two showers installed.  On Mondays street people get a tea and biscuit and a shower, for many it is the only one they will get.  Advice is offered if anyone can give it and a chance to just meet people of the street.  On Saturday it was the monthly 'Lobby Lunch' something they have done for many years.  Street people, and others, come to tea and sandwiches, to chat and lonely folks from the area drop in, London as you will know is a very lonely city. 
The church spaces are also used for art exhibitions and Chris, the minister, had some of his work on show and that was the purpose of my visit.  The one time staircase turrets were put to good use making spaces to show pictures or spend time alone in prayer.  There were several of these and other cubby holes around the building as well as office spaces and larger halls, it had been very well designed and a huge development considering what the place had been like before.  At least now there was no more need to personally paint doors, walls, or any other running repair.  How many doors I painted in past times.  On the top you can just make out the pricey flats that have been built in to pay for it all.  Great views from up there.
Only two of the girls working the kitchen, that's what women were made for surely?  Only two of them I knew, Rosie spoke with all the keenness of someone wishing she was elsewhere and Rosemary did not recognise me.  l did not think it worthwhile explaining as it had been 23 years since I was there, few remember.   

Going around the exhibition and wandering up stairs and through doors I forgot to take pictures of the art on show.  It is not a massive show but when he tells you how he took the pics it takes time!  His eye is better than mine and he sees pictures everywhere.  This pic is taken after 'Lobby Lunch' was cleared up and the last guest was chatting about some problem.  It shows the space in this first hall, vestibule I suppose, and as I sat chewing on the last piece of cake they cleared away the 8 tables and this man and the other regulars sorted things out.  In spite of the vast wealth in the area there are normal people around also.  rich or poor they all have similar problems and the 'up and outs' need help as much as the 'Down and outs.'  This church is willing to cover both in a manner Jesus wishes them to.

Here is the boss admiring his work through the window into one of the tower spaces.  At the rear is one of his offerings.  At night the picture shows up clearly to the passer-by but the reflection spoiled the show today somewhat.  It will run until the end of June and the church is always open these days unlike in the past.  One complaint was the doors were always shut but when open these grumblers did not enter, now it is open daily but do they enter? 

Chris and I then went 'just around the corner' about a ten mile hike for my knees, to a cafe where we sipped coffee while he ate apple strudel.  My diet forbade this, and all the other delicacies spread along the counter which my greed longed for.  It is many years since we had met in the real world and it was good to hear how satisfied he now is with the church building, the 'programme' if that is an acceptable word, and the staff, all part time, who help run the place.  The congregation is small as is the case in such churches, while around 50 attend on a morning over a three years period that 50 will vary with time and over a hundred may have been regulars.  London life brings people in and chucks them out at a great rate.  He needs to bring in some of the media types from round about.  They of course hate Christianity because it exposes their sin, not to public scrutiny but to themselves and this they fear greatly.  Don't we all hate knowing what we are?
It was good to know he is where he ought to be and the church is facing the right direction.  I was glad he is content with his lot, especially as he has so many troubles each day, often new ones to surprise him, and Jesus takes him through them.  His success revealed clearly my failure.
One thing was clear this is not the 'Grove' I remember.  Not just because of the building work but because the people have changed, most were not born when I was last here, and the outlook is while similar to the past very different also.  God reaches out to what is there now, not what was there then.

 
It was time to shake off the cafe and head for the 'tube' again.  Once more I saw sights I had forgotten while pushing through chattering tourists oblivious to others sharing the planet with them.  I avoided the young thing tempting me with T-shirts claiming 'I have been to Portobello Road' and ignoring her and avoiding death on the road by using the zebra crossing and almost getting killed as the driver could not see past the tourists crowding the roadway I headed home.

This row of shops was at one time shrouded in the fragrance, if that is the right word, of the 'joss sticks' that one of the Hippy shops burnt daily.  Looking at what is there now I wish the Hippies were back again.  "Peace!"  Anyway I must push through this crowd and make my way down all those steps to catch the next train.

 Blast, Missed!

This will do.  I just have to keep awake and avoid ending up at Hainault, wherever that is.

I slunk around the station, usually I jump on the first train and head for Chelmsford and change there.  If anything happens and a delay occurs I can change to the bus and get home easily enough.  Today I just could not be bothered and instead searched W.H.Smiths for a cold drink.  Eventually I found a tin of something cold, I was too tired to care to read what it was called and it was one of the few actually cold drinks in the fridge, and with only 'self-service' in the shop, the staff to lazy to take the cash, I paid £1:89 for whatever it was.
As I left the shop the Somali (?) security guard asked which team I was supporting in the evening game.  Neither I said and wished I had expressed my real thoughts that it would be a poor game with few goals and a waste of time.  However I said little.  He asked what team I supported, I explained and he looked blankly at me.  "Scottish team," I explained.  "Oh," said he, "Scottish."  He let the word roll around his head as I moved off while he tried to work out what "Scottish" was.  England does not know Scotland, London knows it even less.

 
I greedily guzzled the cold drink, it had claimed 'energy' on the tin but I saw little of that, and slouched off up the long platform to the front end of the train, one of the newer replacement ones for the old out of days trains.  At this time of night I considered it could not be busy and I was right.  However each one who boarded ensured they bumped into me until I moved to a safer seat.  

The journey takes an hour mostly dropping people off as opposed to gathering them on.  The sun shone through the window, the coach was quiet, four young kids got on and noisily off soon afterwards, they had the difficulty of explaining to one of their number he could not get on the train where he intended as the railway did not go there.  
I was not convinced he was joking.  
Home by 8 in time for some of the football and a plate of corned beef and chips.  At this point the sight of the cafe specialities lined along the counter returned and caused me a deep moment of jealousy.  That cafe did not exist while I lived there, hopefully he will move out here one day.
The dinner was woeful, the football so woeful I played with the pictures instead.  My knees were woeful and wished me to know this, my tiredness was woeful and as I remembered clambering up 5 flights of stairs carrying furniture all those years ago I wondered if it was all a dream?  
Soon I was dreaming and even sooner it was 5:15 am and I was awake again....

  

Fun Packed Friday

I have spent much of the day attempting to get this old laptop to speed up.  Whatever I try it makes no difference.  I suspect that having done all the usual recommended things I need to get a geek to look at the innards and check things like clock speed and whatever else inside is appropriate.  I would look inside myself but have no idea what I am looking at nor what anything there does.  That would then lead to a worse situation.  I want to use this as a spare laptop, for when the proper one goes down as they do, yet this one has always been slow, much too slow in my opinion and I wonder if something inside is responsible.  Hopefully a geek will appear one day.

There are lots of forgotten photos on here mind.  I am not sure how old but one or two are OK.  There is very little else however I did have the joy of awaiting the Microsoft update download, it took so long I took to doing the ironing while I waited!  In fact so many items I run took so long I hoovered the place, finished the Christmas cards, and generally tidied the place after a weeks sloth.  
Searching through old pictures is at least something interesting but this leaves me wondering why I have not dumped most of them.  Still as I have not got out much, my knees ache from last weeks running around and Tuesdays fun, so not much has been done nor have I wished to go anywhere bar the shops.  Having only one gift card to buy, possibly one or two wee things for one or two kids, and no more cards required I appear to be finished my Christmas shop before November! Maybe that is not so bad after all?

There will be a great many mums giving a sigh of relief tonight.  The half term holiday week has ended, Monday brings the cheery children trudging back to imprisonment in school, happy days - for us!  No more wandering through Tesco with hundreds of brats filling the place, screaming, running or, even worse, being helpful to mum.  The mums I saw were somewhat overcome with the help they were receiving.  
The Welsh holidays begin this week I now understand, the Scots hols were the week before, on the one hand local arrangements are best but some consider something more unified would be better.  On the other hand Scots are not going to tale hols to suit English needs, and have always noticed the TV planners cared only for English requirements not Scots, and I imagine Wales finds he same.  On the other hand too many places on holiday at the same time leads to crowds, and price increases, however after Brexit there will only be home holidays and no-one will be able to cross the channel, not that they will have the cash to do so anyway!