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....
One thing I have learned is that the Church of England is not like any other church I have belonged to. The Church of Scotland has some weirdo's in it today, some who ought not be allowed through the door it must be said, yet for all its troubled history the CoS has not produced eccentrics with the ease the CoE has done. This book lists some of them. The author is a curate in the CoE and therefore comes across some eccentrics daily I would imagine, in my short time here in the Essex wilderness I have discovered the CoE encourages such people. The book offers a collection of clerics from recent and distant past times, some appear to me to be quite good chaps in truth doing the job they were paid for, perhaps that is why they were considered strange? However the first one mentioned 'Robert Hawker' can only be classed as 'strange.' While engaged in his clerical duties at Bude in Cornwall he took to the sea. He would sit on a rock just of the coast wearing a wig maid of seaweed and with an oilskin wrapped around his legs he would sing as mermaids do. This curate action confused some of the locals though they gathered around to watch and listen until a local farmer, or perhaps the weather brought him ashore and quietened him down. Having moved far from Bude to a lonely parish he became famous for there he invented the Harvest Festival in a vain effort to get his parishioners into church. The majority of the congregation however remained his 10 cats who followed him in each Sunday. One caught a mouse on a Sunday and was excommunicated for this. In spite of dressing in a peculiar but coloufull fashion he considered it his duty to rescue bodies which were constantly washed up on shore from the treacherous waters around him. He also tried to rebuild the vicarage in his own quaint style but his behaviour and his addiction to opium along with the bizarre poems this inspired stopped him from obtaining money to rebuild his church. He died in 1875. Michael Ramsey became Archbishop of Canterbury and was known to begin the day by bangng his head three times on his desk muttering "I hate the Church of England," I suspect all those who followed him have also followed this practice. George Harvest suffered from memory loss, he forgot to arrive at his wedding as he had gone fishing, not only but also he made a second wedding arrangement and got caught up in conversation with a stranger and missed that one as well! There are many such in this book, including one who built a fence round the church to keep people out and I suspect some vicars who having read that will wish to do similar. An entertaining read which only the CoE could produce.
No idea what this is but the bush in the park over the road gives off a delightful scent. The wind is carrying it eastwards today but when the wind is low the fragrance fills the area. We need more of these.
No football tonight. After tomorrow there may not be much for a while. What will I do...? I might have to speak to people if I cannot avoid them. Oh dear...
I was surprised to see a return of the series 'Love Island' on the early morning TV news today. I was surprised because I had not known it to have gone away before. This programme, like so many others that get a great deal of publicity is one I have not actually watched. I suspect if I did find it on my television I would watch with the sound turned off. That way it might have more purpose. Another giant of the screen was 'Game of Thrones' (I think) which has mesmerised many but unfortunately not appeared before my eyes. Occasionally it is mentioned online, on forums, and by people I meet but too me it appears not worth watching. I find such programmes a wee bit childish now though I suspect I would watch them in the past. There again having read so much about the real world I find it hard to escape into such fantasy as this. Viewing pictures of war, a bible reading and such programmes are seen as well, cobblers! This means I cannot watch them for more than five minutes before allowing sarcasm to begin. Between 1978 and 1986 I did without TV altogether and was constantly informed of wonderful programmes which I missed. When I eventually saw such programmes I was not impressed. It is possible that reading books instead of watching TV or just living in the real world had influenced me against them I know not, however TV did not hold me as before. Most TV is puerile to me now, only occasionally, like this morning, do I switch it on and find channel after channel offering me 'tele-shopping' and that for items for which I have no use. Most of the rest are just junk, I mean who needs to watch 'Coronation Street' early in the morning? There is a place for TV in this world, there are some decent programmes if you spend time scanning for them, but on the whole most are wasting my time. At the time of asking there is only one programme worth watching and my TV refuses to pick it up! The other 50 channels are not being switched on. And don't get me started on the adverts...
One of the items this morning concerned the Birmingham school where parents, mostly Muslim, object to the teaching of homosexuality to five year-olds. The two presenters discussed this between themselves both taking the same viewpoint and allowing no disagreement with their opinion. Further voices were heard all supporting the gay viewpoint and encouraging teaching children about gay sex, including four and five year olds! Anyone who offered a different point of view was called 'bigot,' as indeed the head teacher behind this teaching was quick to say. This appears to be acceptable to Sky News early in the morning but does not equate to journalism nor objectivity on any subject. Now we understand the media is full of people who are gay or loose with their sex lives, few have a grasp of the world beyond their university and childhood and all share the fashionable viewpoint of life, they appear to have heard no other. Esther McVey, a good looking but not one to trust Conservative possible PM did claim parents should have a 'final say on what they want their children to know.' This of course has led to the usual gay lobby bots objecting on Twitter. Clear evidence, as if it was required, that disobeying the gay lobby brings condemnation for speaking the truth. The totalitarian society is just around the corner.
I have attempted to post for three or four days now but frankly could not be bothered. Pressure of laziness wore me out... Yesterday I was unable to post as I had to work, the kids came in to the museum for music, that is Bongo Drums and noise. I remained at the far end away from the noise and had to contend with the mums and kids. This I like as kids are different! Kids views on the world are limited to the family, school and whatever they have around them. Each one is at one and the same time different yet the same. The same daft actions bring similar responses yet they also act in distinct manners. So one will laugh while another finds something humorous but has a reply to fit. At least when leaving all who I asked were genuinely happy to have visited and enjoyed themselves. Mum will have brought many back each day this week, cheap, safe and easy for them.
Not so easy for me as my replacement took the day off to enjoy her friends birthday leaving me doing overtime. My egg roll did not help my diet (3 pound lost) and cost me £2:50. The working late meant I missed my siesta which leaves me tired even today and also left all yesterdays jobs still to do. They can wait until tomorrow now...
Last night, struggling to keep awake, I watched part of the wimmins football that was on BBC Alba. While it was fast paced enough, with commitment, effort, no little skill, it was clear that this is 'Girly' football. Put this triumphant side up against any male side in the world and they will be defeated easily. Now I have no objection to girly football as such however I have much objection to the lie that tries to put this on a par with proper male football, it isn't and never shall be. Such an attitude is part of the lie that attempts to make men and women the same under a lie of 'equality.' We are 'equal' but we are made to be different. The satanic lie is to scrub that difference and confuse people, it works well today. Too often we read of some famous (usually an actor) person claiming they will not force their son to be a man but let him 'find himself!' Yeah right! 'Bring up a child in the way he should go' I say, you will not do that trying to sand back will you? Instead the strongest influence in the house, in these cases probably the mum, will fill the kids head with her feminist views, whatever they are. Feminist views are in the eyes of the beholder, there is not a 'ten commandments' for them, they are a mishmash published in book, magazine and media, a confusion of thought with no single driving purpose except make the woman think she has been cheated and is missing out. She isn't. Men 'miss out' as much as women, men suffer as much, men do not have the ability however to sell the gutter press by whining about their lot, women can. We see in the BBC the epitome of such slanted views on sex and 'gender.' Women are forced into everything, radio pop stations, football reporting and elsewhere, often clearly not fitting and yet grumbling about this is dismissed. We are not allowed to complain. Why a women footballer should comment on TV football when men from the lower leagues are not considered fit to do so is a clear sex bias. Why mediocre women are filling the BBC World Service today when in the past better journalists were removed, often female, to make way for them puzzles me, probably employed because they are cheaper. Ah cheaper! If women earn less in business surely the boss would employ more women than men? They don't do they? There must be another reason. Anyway I was quite happy watching the girly football but it is not equal to the male game and never will be. When will the hype cease? Now, can I go back to sleep...
It was quarter to six in the morning, the sun shone from behind the trees in the east, the wood pigeons sat bleary eyed on the fencing staring into nowhere, I climbed aboard the dirty, ramshackle bike and headed west. Having filled the tyres with fresh air the day before I was prepared for the journey. I had not bothered to check the gears, brakes or anything else as I knew all would be well, at first I was wrong, the gears took a while to remember what to do. I passed through the market centre dodging the early Burger vans setting up for the Saturday Market. The market is indeed an ancient one beginning in 1199 when the Bishop of London, who had inherited the land from the Theign Athelric, got permission from King John by promising him taxes could be raised this way, John agreed and also agreed to a similar market in Chelmsford which more or less exists today. The cattle and sheep have been replaced with Burger vans, fruit and veg stalls, and on monthly occasions a variety of items produced in a desperate fashion to reinvigorate the town. Lowering the rates on shops might help but the council see that as a bad idea. Peddling down the High Street, another new invention in medieval times, I find the way very rough. A while back the road was relaid using red bricks and looked marvellous, since then buses and vans running over its length have turned it into a glacial like mountains range, cycling is harder here in town than in the old railway. The road from London crosses Braintree where it meets 'Stane Street' running from Colchester west. Whether it was the wealth produced by the market or the Bishop deciding to reroute the road in favour of his dwelling on, appropriately, Chapel Hill, is unclear but this new way became the High Street. Next door to the shop on the corner, the blue fronted one, lies an ancient house which has served as a hotel of sorts for some years. The owner once told me a wooden pillar in the house had been dated to, I think, 1387 AD, which indicates the ages behind some of the shop fronts. Most now have Victorian or more recent fronts but behind that lies ancient years and memories.
Slipping, and I mean slipping, past the church which has stood for almost a thousand years, probably on the base of a Saxon wooden edifice, and the houses nearby cover what were Roman graves, I head for the traffic lights on the old London Highway. I note on old documents they referred to a road as a highway at all times. Mr MacFarlane would be happy on this once dirt track wandering through the woodlands heading on a pilgrimage to Bury St Edmunds. Edmund died 869 AD so such pilgrimages continued until Henry VIII removed them in religious zeal, so he could marry again. A busy road for many years. At the lights few realise that to our right stood an Iron Age settlement. In the gardens round about the occasional grave can be found if you dig deep enough, usually Iron Age, occasionally a family argument. Not wishing to ponder this I continue past the Victorian houses which appeared as wealth grew and farmland was bought out and turned onto the pavement in a bid to beat two early morning joggers (and they needed to jog) to the old railway line, the 'Flitch Way.'
There was of course no real requirement to build this railway line, joining Braintree to Bishops-Stortford, the line from Braintree had connected to the Liverpool Street line since 1848 but the railway company was afraid that their line from London to Cambridge might be compromised by a competitor running from London through Bishops-Stortford to Norwich, the answer was to run a line across their plans and so this line came to be in 1869, after the usual squabbles, usually about money. The public came for a while however after the Great War lorries took away much of the freight and charabancs took the public leaving them almost at their doors while the railway line was often a mile from the villages themselves. By 1952 the last train ceased and twenty years later freight also failed and the rails were removed. Hard work by the Rangers, that is Essex Rangers who maintain the ground not a football team, has enabled the way to be a perfect rest from town life. Those who plan to place over 500 hundred houses alongside the way require removal to Afghanistan in many folks opinion.
Having spent so much time indoors I was happily surprised by the verdant way as I passed. The Rangers had maintained the way so well it was a corridor of green all the way up. Funny how at this time of the year the colours disappear and green and white become the main draw. Only a handful of colourful plants were noted, most were white flowers. The picture shows part of the land that a local developer wishes to change into housing to his advantage. Several hundred houses could replace this view, much to everyone's disgust. I can understand the farmer wishing to cash in, farming is not a great winner and Brexit brings no guarantees with it so I understand his wish to sell out.
I think this is the farmer who wishes to sell the land. The future for such as he is not clear and it is understandable if they will seek other revenue. I note the horse and the gymkhana material to the side which is new. Further up there were four young ponies chasing each other around their field happily and I would imagine they will spend time this week carrying little Tabitha and her friends over the jumps.
I must be at least a year or more since I rode up here. The weather was wonderful as I headed up the slope, only one old lass being overprotective to her ageing dog was to be seen. The air was filled with the scent of lush foliage and I breathed deeply as I rode. There again I have to breathe deeply when on the bike, puffing like the wee tank engines that one crawled up the slope at 25 mph overtaking the likes of me with little effort. It was wonderful to be out this far and being empty with even the bypass traffic lessened at this time there was a kind of silence filled only by bird song and rabbits rustling through the undergrowth.
While installing the railway and the new station the engineers had to build the new bridge. The road until this time crossed the line, it still does, but it was felt that it was better a bridge went up to enable people safely to cross and avoid holding up all the horse and carts desperate to rush through their day. Houses were being built on the other side and a new road was put in. In keeping with the standards of English villages life, the street through the village was called 'The Street,' so the new street was given the name 'New Road,' a name it keeps to this day. The road that led to the school, now converted into very expensive housing, retains the name 'School Road.' This however was far enough for me today so I turned the bike around and slowly trundled down the still quiet slope.
I stopped occasionally on the way down to listen to the birds singing but discovered silence each time. It appears they were watching me carefully and only sang when I had gone. The rabbit holes that have existed half way up for as long as I have been here were empty, not that I looked in, but I wondered about the life a rabbit has deep down underground all his life. Underground in safety I suppose as there were rabbits to be seen but quick to run for it when I passed.
Jemima here had been sitting chomping leaves when I appeared. Her friend had no hesitation in running but she is either brave or stupid enough to wait until I had taken her picture before she moved. How do I know this is a she, well can you prove me wrong?
Very few brightly coloured plants now, the rabbits must have been busy. The predominate colour is now white. Do the wee beasties prefer this? Does this attract them at this time of year?
Canny mind what this is called but it was abundant today. All along the way there was verdant greenery with this plant filling in the spaces.
The summer weather (is it summer yet?) never fails to surprise. While I was attempting and failing to capture the sunshine behind me a large black cloud was forming and hiding itself behind the trees.
At the bridge, where my lack of fitness made me get off and push both ways up the slope leaving me feeling so guilty about this that I refuse to tell Dave in case he cuts me off, I stopped to attempt a picture of the light rainbow. Not too bad an effort and a rare sight for me. I did not hang about as I realised another cyclists hint is 'always carry a cap' as rain will fall. I knew it would not rain and was naturally drookit by the time I got home.
Raindrops falling while the sun shines blindingly ahead of me. Not a great picture but indicates the rain at this time. One hundred yards down the road, when I got home, the rain stopped.
A delightful morning, home for three sausages, three egg omelette, and two rolls left from earlier in the week, almost fresh enough. Then back to bed! So glad I am fit enough to travel a just a few miles on the bike, hopefully this continues.
