Troubles, according to the proverb, never come singly, and today illustrates the point. As she left for work this morning, Tigger casually mentioned that the hot water wasn’t working – again. This is the third time it has happened. Out of the blue, the hot water refuses to work and then, just as suddenly, starts working again. On the other two occasions, it happened on Sunday and came back on just before I could call the Council’s repairs team on Monday morning. This time, I can call the Council while it’s still not working.

I had to wait until the scaffolders arrived (so that I could let them in) before involving myself in a phone call to the Council. Happily, the scaffolders arrived at about 8:15 and I was able to call the Council when the repairs office opened at 8:30. Here, I had another stroke of luck: they can send me a gas engineer this very afternoon!

This morning, then, not having hot water on tap, I had to boil water in a kettle to wash myself and then wash the dishes. Though annoying, this is not a major inconvenience. It carried me back, in memory, to my childhood. In those far-off days, hot water on tap was a luxury that only the wealthy could afford and we were definitely not wealthy. All of our hot water, with one exception, was heated in kettles and saucepans. This included washing oneself, washing the dishes and indeed anything else requiring a modicum of hot water.

The exception was water for taking a bath. Our house contained a small bathroom, created, long after the house had been built without such a facility, by stealing space from existing rooms and the upper landing. My earliest recollections include an ancient gas geyser perched over the bath. To use this, you turned on the water, to obtain gas pressure, and lit the gas burner underneath. (There was no pilot light or, if there was, it never functioned.) The heat from the burning gas heated the thin stream of water emanating from the geyser.

When this aged apparatus eventually gave up the ghost, the local plumber cum odd-jobs man replaced it with a contraption of his own devising. He built a shelf over the bath and placed upon it a large urn with a tap. Above this, he placed a tap connected to the water main and, underneath it, a gas ring. To take a bath, you filled the urn from the tap and lit the gas ring. You then went away to do something else while the water was slowly heating up.

This system worked perfectly well, of course, but in retrospect I think we were lucky that the whole caboodle never collapsed on someone in the bath.

When I first came here to live with Tigger, we had a gas fire for heating – in one room only – and an electric immersion heater for hot water. When our flat was refurbished in 2008, these two were replaced (with some regret on our part, especially concerning the gas fire which we liked) by a gas boiler providing both hot water and central heating, bringing us into the modern world, so to speak. Modern, yes, but also often faulty. We have had to have many repairs to the boiler, something that never occurred with the immersion heater and gas fire.

The gas engineer, with a female assistant, arrived at 3 pm. The same pair had already visited us on July 5th to do the annual gas check (see Pancakes and coffee). I described the problem and left them to it.

After about 40 minutes, they declared the problem – a blocked water sensor – solved and went on their merry way. If only all of life’s problems admitted of such simple remedies!

By the way, with reference to my previous post, it seems that my “mental” neighbour has been pacified and that the scaffolders will return on Monday to complete their interrupted job.

We live in a house divided into four flats, of which ours is nicely situated on the ground floor. From time to time the Council needs access to the house for repairs and inspections and for this they need the co-operation of an inhabitant.

Somehow, without me quite knowing how, I seem to have become the unofficial concierge of the building, at least, as far as the Council is concerned. So, whenever there’s work to be done, my phone rings and I am asked whether I can be there to receive the people concerned.

This happened early last week when the Council rang to inform me that they needed to install scaffolding at the rear of the building and to ask whether I could provide access for the scaffolders. They proposed Friday, July 9th, and as Tigger was working on that day I was happy to agree. The scaffolders would arrive at some time between 8 am and 12 pm.

Friday duly arrived and Tigger went off to work, leaving me to complete all the usual morning chores before 8 am. I did so and settled down to await the expected ring on the doorbell. For good measure, I hooked back the curtain of the living room window, so that I could keep watch on the road for the arrival of the lorry.

The expected ring on the doorbell never came and no scaffolding lorry ever appeared in the street. I was left waiting, like a jilted bride at the altar.

This was not only annoying but also embarrassing. Taking my concierge’s role seriously, I had drafted a notice and affixed it to the inside of the front door to be seen by our neighbours, informing them of the expected visit by the scaffolders. When this didn’t happen, it made me look silly and I felt duly embarrassed.

Had I perhaps misunderstood the date? I was sure that I had not made a mistake and this was confirmed on Tuesday morning when my phone rang. It was the nice lady from the Council who had called me the week before. The scaffolders, she said, had reported that they had been unable to gain access to the property and had therefore not been able to do the job. I leave you to imagine my reaction to this! I had waited in all day, I said, and kept watch on the street. If they couldn’t gain access it was because they hadn’t come here!

The nice lady asked would I be able to provide access for a return visit and would Friday the 16th be a good day? As Tigger is again working on Friday, it would be a very good day.

Today, then, I went through the familiar routine, finishing off the chores and making myself ready by the time the hands of the clock were creeping towards 8 am. Then I settled down to watch and wait.

At about 8:15, I saw the scaffolders’ lorry draw up outside. They have kept the appointment this time. I went out to meet them and showed them to the back garden which is their field of activity today.

As I write this, I can hear the scaffolders at work in the back garden. Together with the clank of metal stays and the thud of wooden planks, there is the characteristic whirr of electric spanners. Putting up scaffolding that is fit for its purpose and safe for those who stand on it must be an art as well as a science. I have read of accidents where scaffolding has collapsed leading to loss of life.

Later…

All went well until about 10 am when the scaffolders knocked on our door. They were angry and frustrated because they were unable to finish the job. They then gathered up their kit and departed. What had gone wrong?

All had been well, they told me, until they reached the balcony of the top flat which they needed to access to continue the work. At that point, the lady who lives there appeared and, in their words, “went mental, threatening to throw herself off the balcony”. She claimed that no one had informed her, much less asked her permission, to access the balcony and that she would not allow it on pain of self-harm. In the circumstances, the scaffolders could only stop the work.

I phoned the Council and spoke to the nice lady who had arranged the appointments, passing on what the scaffolders had told me. I left the matter in her no doubt capable hands and wait to be contacted about yet another appointment for the scaffolding work to be completed.

It seems that a concierge’s work is never done… 🙂

The main message

Since I started it in July 2019, this blog, SilverTiger at home and abroad has been the main focus of my attention. I am happy and grateful to say that a number of people follow the blog, some of whom do so by subscribing or using RSS.

More recently, I started publishing my posts both here and on my old blog, SilverTiger, running the two blogs in parallel. The “change of focus” mentioned in the title means that in future I will be blogging first and foremost on SilverTiger and echoing those posts here, a reversal of the previous system.

Will I continue to post here as well as on SilverTiger? To start with, yes, though, depending on workloads, there may sometimes be a delay before a post finds its way here from SilverTiger. At some future date, however, I may decide to continue blogging on SilverTiger only. If I do decide to do this, I will give advance warning of the fact.

This, then, is the main message: will you please start following me on SilverTiger rather than here. This is especially important if you subscribe or use RSS: please move those subscriptions to SilverTiger.

The reasons why

Read this only if you are interested in the reasons why I am making the change. More important is to take note of the main message above.

I maintained SilverTiger for two months short of 13 years, 2006 to 2019. In 2019, material for posts was piling up faster than I could deal with it and I felt that the only option was to cease blogging.

After a brief holiday from blogging, however, I found myself missing it. By now, mobile phones had become very powerful and flexible and WordPress, along with other blogging platforms, provided an app for mobiles. This led to me making two decisions, one that was good and sensible, and the other that was, frankly, a mistake.

The good decision was to blog on my mobile and to post “on the hoof”, that is, as the events described were occurring, This would give a sense of immediacy and – very important – avoid the build-up of material that had caused me to give up on the old blog. Two years on, I can say that that was indeed a good decision and I have enjoyed taking and editing photos and writing posts, all on the one device.

The bad decision was to give myself a new moniker, SilverCat, and to start an entirely new blog, abandoning the old one. I did this because I thought I ought to start entirely afresh without anyone knowing that I was also the author of the discontinued SilverTiger, an idea that seems rather pointless in retrospect.

Two things happened to change my mind. Firstly, the new moniker didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t feel like SilverCat: after 13 years, I was SilverTiger! So I reclaimed my identity.

The second thing that happened was that even though I had stopped updating the old blog, visits to it continued at much the same level as before. I also received comments and emails from readers, along with requests to use photos of mine. The Mary Celeste, it seemed, was still seaworthy! I therefore decided to give it continued existence by cross-posting to it from SilverTiger at home and abroad.The signs are that that was a good decision.

Maintaining two blogs of course requires more work than maintaining one. Crossposting from one to the other cannot easily be done on the mobile but needs the use of a computer. This was not needed when I first started SilverTiger at home and abroad, when I did everything on the mobile. This is why it would simplify my life to be able to maintain just a single blog by running it on my mobile.

As I mentioned previously, Tigger is working Tuesday to Friday this week. This leaves me with little incentive to go out, even though I feel I ought to. It’s just too easy to stay at home and read my books (I have just finished Georges Simenon, L’homme au petit chien and have started Patrick Modiano, Des inconnues).

On leaving the office today just after 4 pm, Tigger phoned me to propose meeting for coffee and cake in Myddelton Square Gardens. I waited until her second bus left Liverpool Street Station and then I set out.

Myddelton’s deli was still open when I arrived and I there procured the required cake and coffee. This I carried along to Myddelton Square Gardens.

In the walled garden

As the weather was cloudy-sunny and warm, many benches were occupied but I found one in the central walled garden, in sight of the gate where Tigger would arrive.

Colourful in the sunshine

The sunshine was intermittent but when it did shine, it lit up the flowers and made them shine with colour.

Wood pigeon

I wondered whether the pigeons would recognise us (according to this article, they can recognise individual human faces) and expect to be fed. Fortunately, they did not. As well as the usual feral pigeons, there are also wood pigeons but they are far more circumspect and do not usually approach people.

Calm and pleasant place

The garden is a calm and pleasant place, far enough from the main roads not to attract crowds. I hope it remains so.

Sunlit façades

To go home, we walked round the square. I may by biased but I think the houses are beautiful, especially when the sun shines on them. It’s sometimes hard to remember that they are around 200 years or more old.

Dressed all in green

The sun was shining on the Curvaceous Tree which now, of course, is attired in a full dress of green.

Cloudscape

The skies of this island are rarely free of clouds, even at the height of summer. Love them or hate them, clouds form beautiful and dramatic patterns, especially when, as here, they interact with the sun.

We though, turned for home, having enjoyed our interlude in the garden.

We started the day in classic style.

It had rained but was currently dry, so we sat outside Myddelton’s.

After coffee, we went to the bus stop in St John Street and caught a 341 to Waterloo. When we started out, we didn’t know we were going to Waterloo. It was an idea that developed as we went. Hence the title of the post.

At Waterloo, we passed in front of the famous Old Vic Theatre.

We made our way to the street called Lower Marsh. This has been made pedestrian only so some wit has called it Slower Marsh.

There is a row of fast-food stalls as well as plenty of cafes and restaurants.

The trolleys are waiting for market day.

This cafe used to be called Scooter Works because it was previously a repair shop for motor scooters. It has changed to a less interesting name.

Traces, or souvenirs, of its motor scooter past remain.

We treated ourselves to coffee and cake.

We next directed our attention to a tunnel.

The tunnel in question is the Graffiti Tunnel, originally known as Leake Street. Artists may exercise their skills here without restriction. As a result, there is a rapid turnover of paintings.

Fashions change in art, as in everything else. Much of what is produced these days – lettering in tortured, illegible fonts, abstract patterns – is of little interest to me. Happily, there are still some more interesting examples to be found, such as the above.

There was an artist at work, being filmed by an admirer. The smell of spray paint hangs heavy on the air and I wonder what effects it has on the health of those who spend long periods down here breathing it in.

We returned to the main road and looked for a bus stop.

We passed by St John’s Waterloo and caught a 341 at the station.

Here we are, aboard the bus and crossing the Thames by Waterloo Bridge.

On arrival at the Angel we walked along Chapel Market. The market is closed today and the street open to motor traffic, so the cafes and restaurants do not have tables outside.

Our goal was the pet shop. Here we bought a bag of peanuts for our friends in Myddelton Square Garden, in particular the squirrels. That is an adventure to come!