And then I catch sight of - a pick axe. Yes, you read me right. A huge pick-axe, slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Steve and I both stop dead in our tracks. We stare in astonishment. This is a peaceful-tree-lined suburb where the cheapest houses go for over a million quid. This is really not what you expect in such a genteel neighbourhood!
Soho is now silent. Its streets are practically deserted. Cafes, restaurants and bars are shuttered and, in many cases, boarded up. Much like Oxford Street, Carnaby Street and Regent Street, it has an abandoned air to it. - the odd cyclist, the woman walking her dog, the guy with the camera, taking the obligatory ‘lockdown’ photos…I can count them on one hand as I walk the streets…
On this stretch of the walk, there’s plenty of evidence of the once-railway line - including platforms and old benches. Now, it’s incredibly green and verdant, and you can hear the birds chirping and feel how clean the air is. As you walk further along, you spy real life evidence of the old train line, in the form of benches and old platforms.
We soon develop a routine, Larry and I (Rita loves me but she’s rather more independent). He wakes me each morning at 7,30, bumping his head against my face. After I’ve staggered up to the kitchen and made coffee, we read the headlines together. (Larry’s concerned as I am at the way the government are completely cocking up this crisis).
Starting to observe things more closely. Happened across this beautiful creature yesterday morning, basking in the sunshine and it banished my pandemic broodings for a good few minutes, until it took flight again and found somewhere else to pause. The amazing thing about London right now with no planes in the sky and so few cars on the street is that you really can almost hear the wing-beat of a Peacock butterfly.
As far as I’m concerned, anyone looking to film a few creepy scenes for a horror movie need look no further than London Underground’s Kings Cross.Empty stairs, deserted concourses, eerily quiet platforms, tubes carrying only key workers, of course, elevators that swish and whir along, but with no commuters on them. Behold the beauty of Kings Cross, devoid of people.
Usually, you’ll see here buskers, hobos, locals and commuters….not to mention the endless tourists arriving and departing. Today it is almost deserted. The streets are almost empty of cars (the roads are usually packed bumper to bumper). Occasionally, a bus drives past (they are transporting key workers to hospitals and places of work). But they have few passengers…
The days pass. Mornings turn into afternoons, evenings into the wee hours. I sit, glasses on my nose, staring at the box and then tiny side street pieces in turn. I drink wine and groan. And more wine. It’s the most complex jigsaw puzzle I’ve ever attempted and, on a few occasions, I use bad language. I don’t know South London well and putting together huge swatches of Southwark, Elephant and Castle and Bermondsey almost kills me…
Still, working at it painstaking...it’s forcing me to use so many of my skills. Memory (where did I see that street name before?) logic (how can that piece fit there?), attention to colour (the main ‘artery’ roads are deep yellow, and the more minor roads a pale yellow). So much patience is needed...especially when you realise (cue a groan) that you fitted a piece in the wrong place…
More cyclists go by. I feel as if I’m in a parallel universe, where the majority of humans have been wiped off the face of the planet and I’m one of the few survivors, wandering through a deserted metropolis. Back on Regent Street (which, incidentally, seems more beautiful than ever, now it is devoid of people) I see someone else (with a mask) taking photographs…
I left the farm quite broken-hearted and continued my trip in Egypt, which was a rather spontaneous idea. I returned to the Israeli desert where I went hiking on my own, then travelled onto Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv for me was a perfect city - the sea, beach, markets and street life. As I was exploring, , I was already thinking “this could be my new home”.
Berlin argued passionately against extremism, since (as he saw it) extreme politics (whether in the form of Hitler’s fascism or Stalin’s terror) led to political instability, terrible violence and, ultimately, destruction on a wide scale. As Berlin himself said, "We are doomed to choose and every choice may entail an irreparable loss.
As if I hadn’t waxed lyrical enough in my last blog post about the extraordinary orchid festival I had the pleasure to visit this month, having taken so many pictures of the blossoms I feel compelled to show off just a few more. It’s not just the skill and care the staff possess but the love they show for the place really makes Kew unique - I’ve been to a few botanical gardens in my life, but this one still tops my list, decades after I first came here…
Whilst there - of course - exists a penis museum (in Iceland, I believe), this is the first museum of its kind to redress the balance, and publicise the beauty of female genitalia! The idea that was initially floated was less sensationalist than educational - rather than have ‘Tracy Emmim’ style exhibits on display, it would exist as a learning space - a place where both adults (and teenagers) can be educated - learning more about the vagina…
For me this ‘day of love’ is on a par with New Year’s Eve - high pressure, high cost, and often low yield. The commercialisation, the gooey tv ads, the cloying red chocolate boxes in every store - no, it’s not my shtick. So, it was to my own surprise that, this year, I made a concerted effort to wander the streets of central London, in search of pictures to mark the day. And lo and behold, look what I found…in the backstreets of London’s elegant, fashionable and quite timeless Mayfair…
On the menu today is falafel, tahini, roasted eggplant (made in two ways) and tabouleh salad and everyone in the group is dying to don their apron and get to work. Andt that’s the beauty of Loca Local - whether you’re a pro or a beginner it doesn’t matter - and the fact that I’m cooking with a professional chef and a food blogger is all part of the fun…
And, trust me, as you stare at the lush green lawns, surrounded by immaculately-tended flower beds, the glittering gold dome of the Shrine of the Bab and the turquoise blue of the Mediterranean, you’ll begin to understand the allure. The dome in the mid section of the gardens actually holds the remains of the Bab…the gardens are designed in an eclectic style, fusing the tradition of the East with the proportions of the West. (Italian stone, and precise symmetry).
Arriving during the glittering Jazz Age (think flappers, Chanel couture, absinthe and many a coffee drunk at Les Deux Maggots) the couple are soon part of a dazzling literary circle…the novel conjures up a real sense of what Paris was like one hundred years ago…decadence, debauchery, glamour and a determination to live for the moment, after the horrors of the Great War.
Physio is a must - believe me - and don’t expect it to be pleasant either. If anything, it needs to hurt a bit - because, as they say, “no pain, no gain.” Personally, thought, not only did I find it much harder work than I’d anticipated, but it also gave me food for thought - how the body heals itself, how much education it takes to become a physiotherapist (not to mention patience) and how ingenious some of these gadgets are to help get your limbs moving again…
