The east of England has been affected by snow and perhaps other regions as well. London, however, has not had any snow but has been subject to good old fashioned rain.

We’ve had good old fashioned rain

Tigger has ordered some items online. Well, it’s how we live and do our shopping in these troubled times, isn’t it? It’s easy and convenient and they actually bring the goods to your door. What’s not to like?

Well, for one thing, having to wait around for the expected ring on the doorbell. For this particular purchase, delivery has been promised for today… any time up to 10 pm. That means that if we want to be sure of receiving the delivery, we have to stay indoors, possibly until a late hour.

Reflections in a puddle

So what are we going to do – stay at home and wait? Not quite. It takes a lot to deter Tigger from her daily coffee. We decided to make a quick dash to the deli, hoping that the parcel will not arrive in the meantime.

The title says it is “damp and cold”. The weatherman says that it is 4°C out there which is chilly but not exactly cold. But it felt cold and that, after all, is what counts.

Wreath – another survivor

The path we followed is one that we have followed many times before and will no doubt follow many times again in these days of semi-confinement in which we are all living. In Claremont Square we spotted this wreath, one of the earliest to appear and now one of the straggling band of survivors long after Christmas.

The face in the “area”

As we progressed round the square (it seems odd to say that we went round a square but I can’t think of a more appropriate word), I looked for the lion’s head plaque that I know is at one of the houses here and saw that there was also this humanoid face. I had not noticed it before. It gazes sternly down at the “area”. Perhaps it was always there and I was too interested in the lion to notice it.

(In case you are wondering about my use of the word “area”, this has traditionally been applied to the open space below street level that gives access, via its own door, to the basement. In times past, the basement held the kitchen and was where the cook and the servants were to be found when not busy in the rooms above. If you have watched the TV series Upstairs, Downstairs, you will have often heard this word used in exactly the way I describe. Nowadays, when most of these houses have been divided into flats, the “area” provides access to the basement flat.)

A glimpse down Cruikshank Street

We did not walk down Cruikshank Street today as we sometimes do but I took a quick snap of it. The sky was dull but the sun was trying to shine through and managed a pale glimmer from time to time.

Accidental photo

I didn’t take this photo on purpose – in fact, I didn’t know it existed until I returned home. Perhaps I shouldn’t say “accidental” but call it “Spontaneous No 12” or some such, and make out that it is intended as “art photography”, a category in whose existence I have difficulty believing.

Shop window

This shop window in Amwell Street always attracts my attention because it is host to a small number of disparate objects. From time to time, I notice changes – once there was even a pair of lives cats who used appear here and with whom I played “Follow my finger on the window” – but there doesn’t seem to be a coherent pattern. (The goose, of course, is stuffed.)

Rain-soaked notice
Photo by Tigger

We were amused by this item. Someone had attached a notice to the post and enclosed it in a transparent cover to protect it from the weather but they unfortunately put the opening at the top and it has collected quite a lot of the rain – the opposite of what was intended!

Self-indulgence: coffee and custard tarts

And so we arrived at Middleton’s deli. There was already a customer within and as it is quite a small shop, we waited politely outside. When it was our turn, we saw that they had Portuguese custard tarts. We could have resisted (or could we?) but we didn’t. Self-indulgent indeed.

The awaited package arrived at 5:07, while I was writing this. Had we known it would arrive at this time, we could have had a longer walk but at least we will not be disturbed this evening.

Tigger has had to go to the office this week on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday (today). On the first two of those days, it rained all day and the view from the window presented such a miserable aspect that I stayed at home.

Today presented a much better picture, even though the sun failed to put in an appearance, despite the Met Office forecasting that it would, and I therefore decided that I must make the effect to go out.

Lovelier than a poem

Without Tigger, I felt decidedly uninspired but to give myself courage, I started with a visit to my favourite, the Curvaceous Tree. Gazing at its spreading and twisting branches put me in mind of that poem of which people usually quote only the first couplet:

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

It was composed by Joyce Kilmer (about whom, more here) and I have reproduced the whole poem as the post preceding this one.

Chadwell Street

I passed along Chadwell Street, very quiet now that the road works have been cleared away, to arrive at…

Owen Street

…St John Street at the point where Owen Street branches off it. Owen Street is named after the local Tudor philanthropist, Dame Alice Owen. The road, this end closed to all traffic except cyclists and pedestrians, runs beside a small park called Owen’s Fields. I am unsure whether this is the last remainder of the open land on which Dame Owen luckily escaped injury when an arrow lodged in her hat, but it may well be.

Goswell Road and City Road

Owen Street leads to Goswell Road near the point where it meets City Road. The strip of land separating them is crossed by a cycle path which is strategically sited opposite the end of Colebrooke Row, where many cyclists continue their route and I was intending to go for my walk.

Colebrooke Row

Colebrooke Row runs beside the gardens that now cover Sir Hugh Myddelton’s New River. It is also famous (or infamous) for being the home street of a certain Boris Johnson, though whether he still retains a house there, I do not know.

Regent’s Canal

The Row crosses the Regent’s Canal just where it enters the Islington Tunnel (under where I am standing). When the tunnel was first built, its lack of a tow path meant that bargees had to “leg” their barges through it, that is, they had to push against the walls with their feet to “walk” the barge through. As the tunnel is 960 yards long (over half a mile), this presented difficulties and caused delays. In 1820, a steam tug was introduced which could pull several barges at once through the tunnel. This service continued operating until the 1930s by which time motor driven barges had become common.

Church of St John the Evangelist

I took this distance shot of the Roman Catholic Church of St John the Evangelist in Duncan Terrace. It was built in 1841-3.

Gardens covering the New River

As the distance between Colebrooke Row and Duncan Terrace narrows, the covering of the New River becomes narrower too, no longer a park but more like a strip garden.

House of Charles and Mary Lamb

Right at the end of Duncan Terrace stands this fairly modest house. Then called Colebrooke Cottage, it was occupied from 1823-7 by writer and essayist Charles Lamb and his sister Mary, whom he cared for during her bouts of mental illness. Though they occupied other houses in London at various times, Lamb said that this house was where he was happiest. A plaque (visible in the photo), placed by the defunct London County Council acknowledges Charles’ stay but doesn’t mention his sister.

Duncan Terrace

Duncan Terrace (named after Admiral Adam Duncan) has a section which is raised above the normal ground level. I don’t know for certain why this is so but suspect it has something to do with the New River whose course come close to the houses. It reverts to normal level at the church.

The sole survivor

I thought that all signs and symbols of Christmas had been removed but then came across this wreath. Actually, it was not quite “sole” as I did spot another one but it was heavily obscured by scaffolding and so I didn’t photograph it.

Angel crossroads

Instead of returning by the way I had come, I walked up City Road to the Angel Crossroads. Jusaka was not open but was locked up and dark. Not that I had any intentions of buying coffee because, as you may have noticed, I do that only when I am with Tigger. Instead, I went home and made tea!

Joyce :Kilmer, 1886–1918

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Ari is back
Photo by Tigger

It was Tigger, when she came home just now, who spotted Ari in her familiar corner. I’m ashamed to say I had not thought to look. There she is, though, in her usual “Pilates” pose.

Where has she been for the last few days? She’s not saying, of course. Perhaps she popped out to look for lunch.

Tigger took this photo with flash and you can perhaps see what looks like a bright spot: that’s Ari’s eye reflecting the flash!

If you wonder why the ceiling is so stained, that’s the result of the flooding to which our upstairs neighbour treated us just before Christmas. (See Water from the ceiling, again.)

I don’t suppose Ari minds that, though, and, fortunately, neither do we, at least not too much. This place is already so full of “character” that a little more hardly matters!

At the bus stop
Photo by Tigger

Today was a dull day and it rained throughout. Tigger had to go to the office, leaving early.

I could have gone out for a walk on my own but the miserable conditions, together with Tigger’s absence, literally put a damper on that idea.

I stayed at home, not doing anything much, watching the clock for it to be time for Tigger to come home.

Just after 5pm, Tigger let me know that she was on her way. Changing buses at Finsbury Square, she took the above photo and sent it to me.

That was my signal to make tea ready for her imminent return.

A rattle of keys at the door lets me know that Tigger has arrived. We’re together again and all’s right with my world!