Self-Winding · A Sort of Progression

When Zhoen shared some operating theatre pictures, a few commenters said they'd have a go. I dug out a couple of shots from my librarianly past. One is a newspaper picture at my last London library with a certificate for work on local history, the other is at my desk in Suffolk where I worked as part of a reference team. Oh, and here's an earlier one with a hedgehog. None of the action drama of mask & gown, but libraries can get pretty scary sometimes, I promise. Remind me to tell you the story of the tramp's trousers.

Deserted London (in the very places where last week we walked among crowds), an early morning fox, a gentle song and the beautiful Mr. Hudson.

The hay bales fill the wide fields round here, not the spiky old stooks, but giant cotton reels casting geometric shadows in the slanting light. Often, driving by, we have seen a combine still working late into the night, continuing the tradition of the old night harvesters labouring on with their sickles and twine. It is lovely to see a harvest gathered, the blonde stubble lit by sun. But it is at night that the moon makes powerful theatre of shadows and planes of light. No-one caught it better than Samuel Palmer.

-Isn't she lovely! Isn't he funny!

- I'm just debating whether to spend £20 replacing a paperback. In 1972 I bought Poor Cook an inspired set of recipes by Caroline Conran and Susan Campbell. As I remember, it cost about £2 and was a trendy emergence from the dire depths of sixties entertaining. I used it all the time until it was sauce-smeared and covered in brown thumbrints. One day last year I took it to Tesco's in lieu of writing out ingredients and left it in the trolley from whence someone snaffled it, or chucked it in the bin. I've just been looking for a second-hand copy, the cheapest one I've found is twenty quid; and just look at this. If I'd guessed it was such a gem I'd have paid it more respect.


Looking on the Web to see if my old schools in Acton and Ealing were mentioned, I came across this memorial biography of a mother by her son; I'm interested in most family stories and he has put his together well. She went to both the schools I attended and there are some familiar pictures, though she was well ahead of me. I note that she received a farewell letter from the Mother Superior, Sister Stanislaus. I was called in to her study when I left and presented with an inscribed prayer book and a box of 50 Senior Service cigarettes. Honest. She said "Don't mention them outside, I thought you'd really like them better than chocolates." Astute.

- Graham over at Postcards put up a link to Geograph, a site that is inviting submission of photographs to illustrate every grid square on the UK Ordnance Survey, I looked up my local one which has quite a lot of images, I'll send in a few of my own views, I think.

- In conversation with young(ish) people I often find that my cultural stock is ageing; my familiar icons often go unrecognised, now they haven't heard of films, novels, events that I use as touchstones. Recently I drew blanks with Harold Macmillan and Ingrid Bergman. It happens to us all eventually, I guess, as we drift into history - it's a bit of a facer though. I remember in my turn such things as being mystified by Mum's fancies for ancient stars called Walter Pidgeon and Jack Buchanan and her quoting catchphrases from the wartime radio show ITMA. It's consoling to have an odd wallow in the past and find things that later generations are rediscovering; a good source for this is Retro To Go a goody-bag of nostalgia.

- I was rather chuffed that one of my Prague photos was used at Schmap

Jean-Honore Fragonard: The Reader. 1776

Hating heights, I have put this off several times. I met up with my family under the London Eye and we agreed that, given that it was such a perfect day, we should seize it and go up. Without much time to think and get nervous we bought tickets and joined the queue. I'm so glad we did, it was a unique experience to see the detail and relationships of familiar buildings and corners of town. The new Wembley arch was clearly visible in the West and looking South, the Crystal Palace tower marked the southern horizon. Afterwards, we took a river boat down to Greenwich. London was looking superb in autumn sunlight, St Paul's' new-cleaned stone stood sharply out, Canary Wharf glittered, smart as paint, even the Thames had a cheerful sheen. Crowds along the South Bank seemed happy and relaxed; I caught a dose of city pride all over again and I took some good photos this time - the set is here.

Sorry for not posting for so long. I've been really busy and my evening time when I habitually write has been taken by visitors, books, writing up minutes, trips etc. I'll get going again soon I expect, like most of us I seem to hit these dry blog periods.


Going up to Edinburgh recently I bought Private Eye for the first time for ages to read on the plane. It's still good stuff and there was one absolutely cracking cartoon, herewith.

My nephew is over here from Switzerland this week-end and we are meeting up for a Thames river trip tomorrow. I must ask him if he was part of this striking event. I wouldn't recognize him anyway, it's over thirty years since I had sight of his rear end.