Gertsamtkunstwerk

Thames Barrier Park

Last July, in that seemingly endless rainy season stretching from the Diamond Jubilee to the Olympics, we went on an excursion in East London. The first part, a ride on the cable car and walk along the Royal Docks is blogged at A pre-Olympic trip on The Dangleway. The second part required us to cross the intimidating A1020 North Woolwich Road, a frightening pedestrian (and cyclist) unfriendly urban freeway.

I was surprised to see a fleet of English National Opera lorries parked under the high level viaduct that carries the Docklands Light Railway to Pontoon Dock station.

 

Presumably, these areto transport scenery between workshop and theatre, theatre and storage. I guess they must do this frequently to justify a large fleet of lorries (rather than spot rental). It certainly isn't for touring, despite their inaccurate use of the name 'National'.

From the entrance to the park, I spotted this curious building. I can no longer remember its purpose or significance. Suggestions welcome in the blog comments!

According to Wikipedia Thames Barrier Park exists  to aid the regeneration of the area by creating an attractive public space alongside residential and commercial developments.  A key characteristic is that it has a sunken garden you can walk through, or you can walk at ground level, looking down into the sunken garden. Garden Visit says The green trench running through the park was intended as a reminder of the site's dockland heritage. It provides a sheltered microclimate for a 'rainbow garden' - strips of coloured plants.

I like it as a park, and suspect that if I lived nearby I would go more often. I don't think there's enough there for it to count as a visitor attraction for people from other parts. However, I would recommend it as a suitable follow-up to a ride on the cable car and a walk down the dock.

I have recently become aware of how lovely lavender looks in a mass-planting scheme. There was lavender growing in the garden when I was a child, but a typical suburban garden is limited in how expansive one can plant. I didn't like how the lavender attracted bees - we were all brought up that bees were 'nasties', to be avoided, rather than our friends, to be respected and nurtured. Much like spiders. We used to gather up the lavender, dry it, sew it into scraps of material and place them in drawers to give clothes a faint perfume. I don't suppose anyone does that nowadays!

I must also have liked the hydrangeas, given that I took photos at two different stages in our walk. The Pavilion in the background acts as a memorial to local people who died in World War II.

 Next to the river are sculptures that remind you that you are next to the river, which has waves.

The Park fronts onto the River Thames, with views of Woolwich

With the tide low, it was interesting to see just how much rubbish ends up in our urban rivers.

Also, you notice the tiny little streams, tributaries without a name, that flow into the great river.

I can never resist a picture of a redundant and probably rotting jetty.

Oddly, the main reason I wanted to visit Thames Barrier Park was to see the Thames Barrier. It's amazing Civil engineering, and being so unusual in its design, you would think it presents superb photography opportunities. But actually, because it's so wide and relatively squat, it doesn't lend itself to the ratio, 4:3, that I use for photos, and I wasn't close enough to take interesting photos of detail.

Looking back over the park affords a magnificent view of Millennium Mills

So close to City Airport, you are frequently aware of small jets flying over.

Next to the river and next to the park is a residential development. As far as i can gather, this is a Barratt homes development, and therefore probably dating from no earlier than the 1980s. but it has an air about of it the 1930s, reminding me of Pullman court in Streatham, or the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill-on-Sea, constructed in the International Modernist style (more commonly known as Art Deco).

We walked back out through the park, and I took photos of the hedges sculpted to look like waves.

 

It was a nice diversion in the park, and we were lucky with the weather  - when we got back to Brixton the skies opened and we nearly got soaked just going to the market. It was also nice to see a class of Primary school children who had been taken to the park simply to enjoy it. I would imagine - albeit with no supporting evidence - that many of the kids don't get out much with their parents. My eyes were opened and my horizons broadened by seeing the river and the Thames Barrier, and the planted gardens; imagine the effect on children from cramped housing and impoverished homes. Just weeks after this, public discourse was about 'Olympic Legacy' and the need for more sport in schools with idiot ex-Etonian politicians banging on about organised chasing balls round fields. I believe fervently that everyone and especially children, should have more activity, and it is this sort of outing that is far more important, and more active,  than standing around on a hockey pitch hoping that someone might pass you a ball and you might get the chance to trot or waddle with it for a few seconds, until a bully nags at you to pass the ball to someone else.

We caught the DLR. I so wanted to sit at the front and pretend to be the driver but some awful studenty type had got to the right spot on the platform first, and he got to pretend to be driver. It was a bit of a downer on an otherwise enjoyable day. 

 

links 04/21/2013

• https://shareweb.kent.gov.uk/Documents/leisure-and-culture/countryside-and-coast/country-parks/Lullingstone%20Country%20Park%20site%20leaflet.pdf

  tags: days-out

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

links 04/12/2013

• Drinks orders now please! | Uborka

  • Bloody Mary foam with salsa

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

A rainy day in Dorset

When you book a week away in March, you don't plan on the assumption of good weather. I see a forecast of 'showers' as also being a forecast of extended dry spells. With a hire car, fold up waterproofs, and sturdy shoes, no excuse for not getting out.

Jimmy has an obsession with the sea. He says it gives him energy. I love the sea as well, although I think his obsession means that we spend enough time in the inland countryside. We headed to Hive Beach at Burton Bradstock for a morning coffee. However, although it was 'morning' to us, it was lunchtime to everyone else. We went into the cafe, and saw that there were two free tables each for two people alongside each other. I had this weird exchange with a rather odd young man, accompanied his aged father. His words were that we could have a table each, but his demeanour, facial expression, body language and aggressive behaviour made it clear he wanted both tables. We decided to leave. This is absolutely no reflection on the management of the cafe, who were busy elsewhere and whose attention we didn't attract. Sometimes you just get a feeling it's not worth the hassle.

We walked down to the beach. We were there 21 months ago, and had walked in a North-Westerly direction both on the beach and along the cliffs. Last summer, horrifically, a young woman was killed by a rock-fall; the beach and cliffs now have 'Beach closed' signs up. This page shows that there have been further rockfalls. On the very day we visited there was a headline on the BBC News website 'Large crack' opens on Dorset coastline, albeit further along in Weymouth. Since our visit, the Dorset Echo has run Coastal path affected by new landslips near Lulworth Cove. Since we visited it seems that the clifftop path - coastal walk - has reopened, but the beach remains closed.

Instead, we went to the South East. Just us on the beach. Until we were joined by dog people. When I say 'joined by', I mean that despite there being quite an expanse of beach to choose from, this man insisted on having his dogs run right up to me, repeatedly. If they had come any closer, they would have been touching me. Apparently, this is acceptable behaviour? He tried to make conversation with us about the weather. Of course, it's difficult when you're visiting an area - the locals tend to think of a beach as being their property, and, as a visitor, you don't say anything. Clearly the man was lonely, or disturbed. Probably one of those who think that people who use the social internet as being 'sad', needing to get a life. His life - harassing strangers with his dogs and not clearing up the dog's faeces. NB, not the people pictured below. I only noticed them when I focused the camera directly at them.

I don't let these people get to me. Instead I stood and watched the waves, and took photos of the beach. If you want one tip on photography, let it be this: do not assume that a sunny day is the best to take photographs. Yes, there is something magical about blue skies, but dark or threatening skies can be good, too!

We left Hive Beach and drove along the spectacular coast road to Cogden. 

Nobody in their right mind would install a pay and display meter in the middle of nowhere.  Unless, of course, lots of people want to park there. That pretty much sums up Cogden.

Well, yes, but...About three years ago we visited Milford on Sea in Hampshire on the Hampshire coast near the New Forest. Every where we went, pay-and-display was operated from the beginning of April until the end of September (or somesuch). However, we didn't even see the pay and display machine until we had decided not to descend the cloff to the beach.

Driving further along, I spotted a place called the Egg Cup Tea rooms. Interesting psychology, but if they had called it the Egg Cup cafe, would I have visited. If, in some parallel universe, I ran a tea shop, the Egg cup would be exactly how I would run it. Pity I didn't think of photoing the bright and clean interior. A good mix of standard English breakfast menu - veggie option, Glamorgan sausage; daily specials; and tantalising cakes and scones. A really nice place - I particularly liked the collection of pottery decorative eggcups. And I welcomed the absence of children and dogs running around!

The weather changed dramatically after we left the tearoom. The views from the Coastal Road were dramatic and looming. I did try and take photos but they weren't successful. This is probably the ebst of a bad bunch, showing the chapel at Abbotsbury and the view of the Fleet Lagoon - look at these pictures from two years ago for context St Catherine's Chapel and Fleet Lagoon and Chesil Beach. We drove onto Abbotsbury. As, by now, it was chucking it down, we thought we would park up to wait for the storm to blow over. However, we discovered that the minimum parking fee was £4, so, thank you, National Trust, that's pretty exorbitant for twenty minutes on a rainy Saturday in winter. We didn't stay. Instead we returned to Bridport to stock up on supplies before embarking upon the second part of our sight-seeing day.

A pre-Olympic trip on The Dangleway

It seems so very long ago, but I had such a good day out, and took so many photos, it seems wrong not to blog about this trip. And, let's be honest, everything else that happened since! 

The 'Dangleway', or more properly, the uh, thingy, cable car from, er, like, near the Dome opened at the end of June. We had seen test rides from afar A pre-Olympic trip to Greenwich Park, and I wanted to take a ride before it became popular. It hadn't exactly proved to be so up until that point, and certainly hasn't over the winter. The day before we visited, free tickets were distributed to residents of nearby Boroughs. We didn't qualify. I don't think it will ever become popular as a means of transport. TfL season ticket and Freedom pass holders have to pay a cash (or Oyster) fare, so unless your journey is basically North Greenwich Peninsular to the Royal Docks (or vice versa), with no onward travel, you might as well get the Jubilympics Line. Unless you're carrying a bike! But as a tourist attraction it's amazingly cheap.

We shared a cabin with a family - small baby and Dad, and Dad's parents. Grandma was a nervous flyer, but once the cable car took off, she was fine. I liked that it gave me a different view of an area of London I don't know very well. Also, it proved to be a gateway to further explore this area.

We caught the Jubilee Line to North Greenwich Station and strolled to and past the construction known variously as Millennium Dome, O2 Arena, and North Greenwich Arena.

Above the car hung the Dangleway

I became unnecessarily excited that the cogwheel that drives the cable car was clearly on display. We queued up

 and soon were able to launch ourselves into an actual cable car capsule. (Do they call them capsules? Or is that exclusively London Eye nomenclature?).

From the deepest reaches of South London, we embarked on our epic trip to the undiscovered East.

In life, it's best not to look bad. But on a cable car, anything goes.

So many different means of transport. I assume this is a Thames Clipper, or something similar

Perhpas surprisingly, this was my first glimpse of Olympic Park, with the iconic stadium and Anish Kapoor's controversial Orbit.

Our next London 2012 venue was the Excel Arena

and we also had a good view of the residential area lying south of the Royal Docks, and Silvertown Way.

The ride does not take very long, although you can buy a return ticket and return to North Greenwich Peninsular immediately, or later. We decided to walk along the dockside and head towards the River Thames.

The Royal Docks are no longer working docks but their industrial heritage is referenced by the use of cranes as a decorative feature.

It's difficult to imagine the size of the docks until you see them. The buoys mark out the area which isn't safe for small boats. I know that, because I saw some people in kayaks. But I didn't photograph them and I don't know why.

Once you have walked past the Excel there is a footbridge across the Dock. A quaint little thing. You take a lift to reach the deck. It is 15 metres above the water, to allow tall yachts to pass under. If you stand in the middle and look East, you have some great views of London City Airport.

and if you look back, you see the towers of Canary Wharf rising behind the Dangleway.

The area to the south of the Royal Docks is still in need of attention, or regeneration. This surprised me because I had rather assumed the entire Docklands area had been transformed into Yuppie Flats. This warehouse looked semi-derelict:

It seemed to be part of the site for the what turned out to be ill-fated London Pleasure Gardens project. We went past after the Bloc 2012 weekend, but before administration. It seemed very desolate and strangely out of place. I think this strange Golf Ball-like construction was part of the 'offer' from LPG.

There's clearly potential in the area - I guess this is why the nearby Docklands Light Railway station is known as Pontoon Dock

It's more residential away from the excitement of London ExCel and associated hotels. The decorative cranes still dominate. From the residential streets, a clear view of the Emirates Airline and the Dome.

A sense of post-industrial bleakness lingered.

Depending on which way we looked there was Canary Wharf or an industrial chimney.

I had to photograph Pankhurst Avenue. The Silvertown page of Hidden Histories says:

 People sought to improve their working and living conditions through Trade Union and political activities and sought office on West Ham Council and in Parliament. Canning Town had become the focus of a number of new movements and a leading voice for working class people, Will Thorne and James Keir Hardy became leading figures in the Labour Party. Women played a significant part in the struggles Eleanor Marx, Sister Edith Kerrison, Daisy Parsons and Sylvia Pankhurst all worked to improve the plight of working class people and helped to shape the new services provided by the council, they were especially concerned with housing, health and welfare.

 I took a picture of Millennium Mills

i think there's a lot of fascinating industrial history to research, or simply to read about in that area. But But if you want to do it seriously, it's likely to take upa great deal of time. To be honest, I prefer to be more local, because you can just absorb hyperlocal information almost by osmosis, having a greater sense of place and context!

We crossed over Silvertown Way, but that will be another blogpost.

 

How I Won the Yellow Jumper

Dispatches from the Tour de France - Ned Boulting

I read this book a while ago now and would strongly recommend it to anyone who has an interest in cycling but isn't especially a fanatic. I don't think Ned is aiming at the self-appointed expert. He has been called cycling's equivalent of gardening's Monty Don - attractive to those, like me, who know next to nothing but too superficial for the obsessed. But what do I know - I am a very passive gardener, and more of a leisure cyclist than an aficionado of road races on the TV. It avoids endless lists of statistics and results,, which is definitely a good thing!

The title refers to one of his opening salvos in becoming a cycling reporter on the TV - actually referring to the the iconic legendary maillot jaune, or yellow jersey, as yellow jumper. He also refers to disgraced former icon Lance Armstrong as Larry. I read this after 'Larry' had declared he would not contest allegations of drug cheating, but Ned wrote this long before. His scepticism, and refusal to hero worship the Doping cheat is admirable.

Ned tells a great story about life on tour as a reporter on the Tour de France. It's not really the life of glamour that I would imagine - I think a lowly auditor such as myself travels and hotels in more luxury than a cycling reporter. Indeed he mentions in passing how one day ,as a football reporter, he's sharing a studio with Michael Owen, flown in by private jet from Madrid to comment on a Liverpool European match, and a few days later, he and Olympic Champion Chris Boardman are stowing equipment dressed in dubious cagoules in pouring rain.

The book opens with Ned being taken into A&E at Lewisham hospital. My already decent opinion of him climbed further when he tweeted about, and joined, the demonstration to try and save Lewisham hospital.

It's readable and certainly informed me about the Tour de France, if not particularly profound.

A winter break in Dorset

It wasn't planned as a 'winter' break. Spring was in my step when I booked this in the Autumn. Middle of March, I said, bound to be sunny with mild temperatures. I hadn't bargained for the coldest March since 1975. But I knew back in November that we would need a 'quiet' break as respite from our ongoing building-related noise nuisance.

We were extremely fortunate on our journey. You think of all the possibilities for delays, and consider the stories of people stranded for hours in stationary traffic, so it was brilliant to do the journey in less than 4 hours, including one motorway stop. We were able to 'cross' London (from South West to South West) in barely an hour, and with only one minor hold up due to local road works. It's the third time we've done at least part of this journey now; if you have to motorway across country, there are worse routes than the M3 through Surrey and Hampshire. The motorway runs out at the New Forest, and from there it's trunk roads. Sometimes multi-lane dual carriageways and sometimes relatively narrow single carriageway. Sometimes the road passes through pleasant suburbs and towns of Middle England, or passed the green and pleasant arable land. At other times, the road crosses moors rich in bracken, even in this delayed Spring, displaying some splendid colours.

We arrived at our rental cottage. Isn't it always the way that you plan your holiday, pay for it, pack and travel, and you arrive at your destination. What's it actually going to be like? Fortunately, we were very impressed by the cottage we had rented, and I almost immediately ran around to take some snaps, before we unpacked and messed the place up!

  

 

 

It's a small detail, but it's pleasant to arrive at a place and have a 'welcome hamper' of basic provisions, all, as far as possible locally sourced. indeed the book of instructions and guidance that come with the house try to encourage guests to shop for products that are locally sourced, from local independent shops. The company that owns and operates this and other local properties even have a Guest Environmental Charter

We stayed in a village that is outside Bridport although barely distinguishable. Unbelievably quiet at night. Actually, pretty quiet at all times. There's basically one road that forms a crescent round the village, with a dead end leading off it. Just a pub, church and Primary school, although they're planning to open a shop and café in due course. We did go in the pub, which was nice enough - friendly local people, which is always a bonus. 

On our first evening we went into Bridport for our main meal, at the highly recommended Long's. We had previously been to their West Street branch; the King Street is more restaurant than fish and chip shops. 

I have slightly mixed feelings. For example,when we arrived some officious person asked us whether we had made a reservation. We said we hadn't. This was clearly an annoyance to us, and she more or less said "Oh I suppose we might be able to fit you in". The place didn't get full throughout out entire stay. the waiting staff were very good - friendly enough, without being intrusive or overbearing.

As a starter I ordered a seafood chowder. I was perturbed to find that it contained chopped up pieces of cheap ham. I realise that, in culinary terms, there are arguments for and against including smokey bacon. I just feel that in this day and age, there is an onus on restaurants to be a bit more transparent about their ingredients. If I'd wanted a ham soup, surely I would have ordered a ham soup. It was a big surprise to find that pigs are counted as seafoood in Bridport. I have actually heard of pigs flying but swimming is taking it a bit far. And if they had made it 'properly', with smokey bacon lardons, surely that would have smothered the seafood taste, somewhat defeating its purpose.

On the other hand, the fish and chips, and garden peas were beyond comparison. I had the small fillet; there was also a large!

After a quick trip to Spar, to stock up on booze to be consumed indoors, we retired back to our holiday cottage.

July Garden

One day I was working at home and in need of a break. It had been raining but the sun had come out.

I thought I would document how the garden was looking

 

 

But then, I thought, I could take endless dull photos, or I could have a play with the camera. I think actually I went a bit over the top, but I enjoyed the results, I enjoyed editing the photos, and I even enjoyed trying to work out what the actual flowers are! Guess work, in most cases, so do please correct me if I'm wrong.

I hope you enjoy.

 

Dear Zari by Zarghuna Kargar

Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan

This is not a book to read on a lazy beach holiday. It is quite possibly one of the most harrowing books I have ever read, and even though a tremendous amount of hope shines out from the despair, I felt reluctant to follow on with any of the books I had lined up. To read something light-hearted would have seemed an insult to the women in this book; I wasn't sure if I was emotionally strong enough to read another serious book.

Zari is an Afghan woman living in London and was a presenter of Afghan's Woman Hour on BBC World Service. This book is a compilation of some of the stories she was sent by women living in utter oppression in Afghanistan. There are as many different stories as there are women but there are common themes linking them: ignorance and superstition,  a miserable combination of ancient tribal customs and unenlightened repressive religion. Women are sold and forced into marriage, often before they become women, ignorant of sex, punished for not bleeding on their wedding night, held responsible if their husband dies fighting, beaten by husbands and in-laws, denied access to their children, and treated as slaves. In this century, in a country where some Western nations have been involved for too long for no clear purpose.

I read story after story, and I defy anyone to read it and not be depressed. Although, towards the end, the mood lightens and one senses that there is hope. Especially as long as people speak out.

The book is well-written, and easy to read, at least in terms of following the prose. The contents are uncomfortable, and one can only feel sorry for the victims. And, in most cases, for their perpetrators too. Those that beat and bully these women are the product of the same society, trapped in horrific marriages themselves. What struck me repeatedly was how often a woman - widowed or abandoned - was insulted by other women as being a sex-mad whore, desperate for a man. And how can one blame a husband for being cruel when this is the only behaviour he knows, when society tells him to be like this, or when his homosexuality is so taboo. 

I know one is supposed to be tolerantly multi-cultural, and, repeatedly, Zari tells us that these tribal societies confuse ancient tribal customs with Islam, in an attempt to defend Islam. But I cannot accept this. Whoever seeks to impose Islam on these people is equally happy to impose the 'tribal traditions'. I can see no justification whatsoever for the violence and abuse these women endure. It perpetuates the power of certain men, and of 'tribal elders', and it is pure evil. No amount of hand-wringing or weasel words form the religious apologists can persuade me that there is some societal benefit in treating women - and girls -  like slaves and worse than animals, and of institutionalising and normalising rape. It is barbaric and intolerable. And this oppression can't stop unless people stop defending the religions that encourage it.

I do realise that me reading the book and writing this blog post does nothing to address the problem; all I'm doing is wringing my hands and wailing "Something must be done". But do please read the book.

More on Zarghuna Kargar in the Guardian My arranged marriage disaster

Polesden Lacey in June

Polesden Lacey is one of the National Trust's most visited properties. It is one of the closest to London. We set out late morning one day in June. At the time I tweeted Spent way too long trapped in almost-stationary traffic in Tooting & Putney.

It seemed to take an interminable time to reach our destination We stopped off en route at Palmer's Deli Café in Ashtead. I would highly recommend the food offering at this place - I had a ploughman's platter, a sumptuous plate of cheese, biscuits and a lot of accompaniments, and was able to choose my cheese from across the range (they also sell the cheese to take home). Jimmy had a similar platter but based upon choose your own paté. If you're ever driving down the A24 I would strongly suggest stopping here. However, although the staff were friendly and welcoming, I was a bit taken aback by their laid-back approach to service. When we arrived every unoccupied table inside and out was laden with dirty dishes whilst seemingly countless staff stood around chatting. When we left, the staff were just bothering to clear away the outside tables which had lain dirty since before we arrived. And while we were there, an elderly gentleman, insisting on his usual corner table in the window, was clearly annoyed that he had to ask specifically for them to clear away the dishes of the long gone previous occupant. A shame that the owners had such a good idea for what constitutes a good product offer but were let down by staff with little work ethic.

Onwards to Polesden Lacey, and what a dire afternoon that turned out to be. They charged to park the car, and again to enter the grounds. If we had wanted to see inside the house that would have been a further charge. Seemed petty: there could be no other reason for using the car park than to visit their poxy grounds and house. And I ended up having a contretemps with the patronising cow on admissions, all because I asked if Senior discounts were available (for Jimmy, not me, obviously), and she wanted me to fill in a customer questionnaire before I'd even got through the admission turnstile. She was condescending to me because I'm not a National Trust member. Frankly, I'd never join an organisation with someone like that as their public face.

 Even today, their website declares Enjoy the stunning formal gardens, including the famous Rose Garden; when we visited at the end of June, they declared it was National Rose Week, and you could pay £4 for a guided tour of their Rose Garden. I'm glad we didn't do that: it was a disgrace. In summary beds and beds of diseased and neglected roses, planted with little thought about colour blocking and with no imagination, in formal beds:

 

In need of dead-heading/ Blackspot

 

Brown spot /showing off the Rose Garden

 

Lots of flowers...and dead heads / advertised as a rose spectacular

 

They were selling a guided tour of this Rose Garden / Probably under-nourished  

There's some potential in the grounds and it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience, especially when we escaped from the most crowded areas. Again, I felt frustration that the overwhelming majority of people there were either quiet adults of various ages, like ourselves, or people who had brought their well-behaved pre-teen kids for a relaxing day out. But there were several parties who considered this the ideal location to let their toddlers run around, ride their scooters round formal gardens,  or for them to show off that, despite not seeing their own children from one week or month to another, they were nevertheless excellent fathers who almost supervised football on the sweeping lawns to which other people gravitated for sunbathing or 'chilling'. 

Places like this seem to bring out the worst in people.

The woman who owned the house buried her pets in a special pet cemetery close to the house. As we walked close by, some chap asked if we knew where it was, and, trying to be helpful, we pointed it out. And he poured forth about how the woman who owned the house was a 'Bitch', seemingly based entirely on that the pets included dogs, and female dogs are known as bitches, and it's absol hilair to describe a seemingly harmless and long dead woman as a 'Bitch'.

Even as we walked up to the house, I climbed a small flight of steps in order to take a photo. A passing Japanese couple saw me there, and panicked that they might be missing out on that photo, and came to stand far too close to me. I found that annoying, it was a lack of respect for my space. I wouldn't expect anyone to thank me for finding a good vantage point, but I also don't wish to be crowded out, especially when they are too stupid to look and think for themselves.

I had another set-to in the tea room. It wasn't so much the content of the conversation, which was commonplace enough - but the tone: me asking whether I could I have my tea in crockery not cardboard (no); me asking if I could have a larger cardboard cup, for holding a greater voume of liquid (we've run out); and could I have a teaspoon for my tea (it's over there - halfway down the long hall, thank goodness there were no small children running around unsupervised). And I was closely supervised in milking my tea - presumably in case i stole more than my fair share of mass-produced UHT milk-substitute.

Even before I was served, the woman in front of me was saying in loud tones "It's so busy today, it's so quiet when I usually come every day, obviously people just visiting because it's sunny" (Oh, p*** off, I thought). she then ordered a muffin and turned to me to explain it was for her daughter who she was going to pick up from 'riding'. I was supposed to be impressed. I missed a trick in not asking what sort of bike she had. LAter, the woman and, presumably, her husband sat near us in the courtyard. She brayed at him, and he stared past her, unable to keep the despair and loathing from his face.

On the drive back, we passed Chessington World of Adventures. If you think there are no class divides in Britain, there really are. I couldn't help think that they live in different worlds. I think I would have preferred a trip to Chessington. But Jimmy doesn't like things that go round and round. Or up and down.

The highlihgt of the day, other than Palmer's in Ashtead was driving on what was already signposted as the Olympic Cycling Road Races route.

Photos also in my Surrey photo album

A blogging hiatus

I'm afraid all my nervous and writing energy in the past few weeks has gone into my endess pauseless battle with a building firm who are building on a site immediately adjoining my house. They are members of an industry self-regulation scheme called the Considerate Constructors Scheme. My numerous complaints sent to the CCS have shown to me that they are nothing more than a ineffectual, self-congratulatory PR Fluff scheme with less impact as a regulator than the discredited and derided Press Complaints Commission (PCC).

My house has been smashed up; our water was cut off for several hours one Saturday night/Sunday morning/Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks ago. Our electricity was cut off from 11pm on Friday night to 3pm yesterday, Saturday. Everything that has happened is dismissed by CG Towers as 'minor issues' as they remind us of their generosity in repairing their burst water pipes and being obliged by law to put right the damage to my house and my neighbour's, which looks to be even worse.

I am assured that this firm are 'Considerate Constructors' and have worked hard to maintain good relations with their neighbours. To me, it feels like bullying and harrassment. But if you try reporting to that to the police, or reporting obstructions that prevent access by emergency vehicles - or electric generators  -  it's a 'civil matter'. Apparently, if I get my car scratched, that's a criminal matter, but my life and my neighbour's life being endangered - a civil matter.

It's been a struggle to survive from day-to-day, coping with this on top of the usual everyday stresses that come from work, travel, personal admin, health and so on. Bloggings's a great escape. But sometimes, the emotional energy has to be directed elsewhere.

Here's some pictures I took in the garden just about six months ago.

The Battersea Park Road to Paradise

The Battersea Park Road to Paradise I bought this book simply because it was vaguely local - I had seen it advertised on a poster on the London Underground, at Vauxhall or Pimlico station. 

For some reason I thought it was fiction, and assumed that it was in the style of the chick-lit writers who have aged beyond Bridget Jones, but aren't necessarily Yummy Mummy novelists. I hate these labels, by the way. Imagine if we decided to label Dan Brown or Andy McNab in similar ways. There'd be an outcry.

The writer of this book claims it is a factual account of her own life, her search for an answer to what was hinted at as 'man trouble'. It was slightly puzzling, because there is no doubt she is thoughtful, intelligent and educated. And yet, this book describes five different experiences in self-enlightenment where she tried to deal with the emotional loss. She never seemed to be floundering emotionally, but recognised that she needed treatment, perhaps in the way that one seeks out treatment for a persistent dodgy knee. 

She attached a fairly healthy level of scepticism and doubt to the therapies she tried - Feng shui; self-help guru Anthony Robbins; Silent Retreat; Advaita Vedanta; and Shamanism, but yet she never seemed to question their basic premise.

I found this thought provoking, because I tend to ask the question 'What is the evidence'?' and believe in very little. On the other hand, I have experienced and read sufficient to persuade me that there are benefits to be gained from many psychological boosters. The strict 'it must be tested double-blind and peer reviewed or else it's nonsense' brigade appear to have little insight into psychology and human behaviour. For example, I don't care if there is no scientific evidence to prove that aromatherapy works - if I sink back into a smelly bath with smelly candles, it relaxes me and makes me feel better - but I wouldn't suggets it's a suitable treatment for severe depression.

But my main concern about both mainstream and alternative therapies is the monetary aspect. I imagine Isabel Losada has made more money from sales of her books & associated talks and media appearances than she spent on researching the experiences, and therefore, for her, they were good investments. I'm not sure how other people can guard against being ripped off. I tend to be cautious at anything that's 'on-trend' and pricey;  the person behind is usually, foremost, an astute business operator.

I read this partly on holiday on a Greek island, where I had taster sessions for Yoga and Tai Chi, and visited tourist sites that were lasting tributes to the belief in Ancient Greek gods, so I had a heightened awareness of 'belief systems' and their seeming randomness.

I don't think she did find The Answers in the five therapies she tried, but I do think that they gave her an opportunity for reflection and self-examination, which I think is the goal of mainstream and alternative pseudo-psychological treatments. I can't see a problem for 'normal' well-balanced people with a particular problem or sadness, but I do fear that these offbeat experiences could be quite destructive to mental wellbeing of people who need informed and professional support.

On the whole, I enjoyed the book, although I found the section on Advaita a big turn off. I've just looked at her site, and realise that I recognise Mooji. It seems like one big personality cult. Also, she was very dismissive of Brixton, as being about drugs and the Ritzy, and men who were shaggable because of their exotic dark skins. It's mostly pretty readable, but I didn't feel any great identification with or warmth towards any of the characters - real people - including the author. If I was a more voracious reader, perhaps I would read more of her books, but not in preference to dozens of others I 'ought' to read.

A pre-Olympic trip to Greenwich Park

It seems a very long time ago; indicating what a backlog of blog posts and photos I have to process!

Having occasional use of a car I opened Google Maps and searched for big patches of green not too far from home. I chose Blackheath and Greenwich Park. Not far to go, but, being by car, an unnecessarily long and tedious journey. I think it took us longer just to get through Peckham than it would have done to go by train!

Blackheath was a disappointment. I'm sure I went past it years ago and it seemed huge, but on this occasion it seemed a lot smaller, and even less interesting than Clapham Common. Which is hideously unfair of me. If you had asked me five minutes ago, I'd have given you this long spiel about how it's left desolate because it's a plague pit, eternally contaminated by the countless corpses of plague victims. But Wikipedia seems somewhat dismissive of this, mentioning in passing 

Virtually every part of London has a local tradition about plague pits

More interesting is Greenwich Park. I've been to Greenwich several times by boat, and wandered the streets of the town, and skirted round the Royal Naval College.

At first we strolled around a gated garden, beautifully planted, and designed, no doubt, for tranquil relaxation. That seemed to be the aim of all but one of the parties we encountered. Needless to say, there was one party which used the garden to shout very loudly at their children, ensuring that their voices echoed round the space. (As we left we noticed a sign with the usual 'no music, no cycling, no ball games, dogs on leads' and overheard one mother tell her children, no, we're no going in there, not with your scooters).

 

 

 
 

We strolled through the park and commented on how quiet it was. Hardly a soul around, although in the far distance there were crowds around the Royal Observatory.

We found ourselves at the top of a hill that fell away steeply below. Us, one woman and a dog (on a lead) and another couple and their bicycles. And no one else. I took photos!

The new cable-car from North Greenwich to the Royal Docks was not yet opened, although it was clearly undergoing trial runs.

I was mildly intrigued by this building.

I later found out it was Vanbrugh Castle, perhaps a grander name than its history truly warrants.

The panoramic views from this surprisingly deserted spot were truly amazing.

Canary Wharf

In the foreground Greenwich Power station, a stand-by back-up source for London Underground, and my third power station of the weekend!

We saw the former Millennium Dome, currently known as O_2, although temporarily known as the North Greenwich Arena for the 2012 Games.

Views of the City of London and further afield

Closer at hand were The Old Royal Naval College

and the Greenwich Observatory, famous for being the 'home' of Greenwich Mean Time

Below us, the Boating Lake

and an arena being built in preparation for Olympic and Paralympic Equestrianism

We continued our stroll through the park and encountered Queen Elizabeth's Oak. It dates to the 12th century, and died in the 19th, but remained standing until 1991. Queen Elizabeth I was said to have often taken refreshment whilst relaxing in its shade.

 

We arrived at the Observatory. The immediate surrounds were teeming with people, most of them there just to tick this off their sight-seeing list, few of them courageous enough to venture into the wider park, and many of them desperate to get the photos from this famous viewpoint on their phone cameras.

I basically took the same pictures as before, but from a slightly different angle!

 

I had to laugh at one point, because I was stood on the stairway taking one particular view. It wasn't especially inspired on my part, just logical. Some woman, clearly a tourist, saw me, perhaps noticing that I had a camera that wasn't just a phone and stood right next to me, practically pushing me out of the way, as her face wore that expression of tourists the world over - basically, feeling information overload but scared of missing that one important photograph.

"Excuse me, personal space!" I exclaimed, in one of my more lame/pretentious moments. Nevertheless, she seemed to get the hint and moved away. Good thing, because otherwise I would have kicked her down the steps. Possibly.

It had been pleasant rambling through the park, but I found this area depressing. We walked back down to the Blackheath Gate. We had been hoping to see the Rose Gardens, but they appeared to be shut, in preparation for the Olymics and Paralympics.

I also took a photo of this, which I assumed at the time was specifically horse-related, although I now know they were at most Olympic venues, for checking the ticket-holding public.

We had an interesting journey home, missing the entrance to the A2, driving into a small bus garage, and having to do a turnaround in Homebase. But eventually we got home, although the traffic was crawling bumper-to-bumper through New Cross and Peckham. We ended up with a much-needed pint in one of local, recently refurbished & modernised pubs. We had been meaning to go for ages, and also intending to go back; in fact, just this Friday we planned to call in on the way back from our local firework display. But it was packed tight!

More photos from this trip, and many more as well are in my London photo album

links 11/01/2012

• Jubilee Mushrooms Recipe

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

Hungarian Dances - Jessica Duchen

 After I had read the introduction and acknowledgement to this book, I panicked. I only bought this book because I 'know' Jessica via blogging and tweeting; we haven't even met. 

Then I started reading and I found it very difficult to put down. I have read at least half a dozen books since, and this stays firmly in my mind. 

It has a musical theme running through it, and part of my anxiety was because of this - although I like music, I'm far from expert. But actually, I don't think you have to much interest in classical music to enjoy the novel, any more than you need an intimate knowledge of any industry to appreciate a story that's set against it.

There were two passages that I did not like. Both of them were dialogue - or speeches - by oppressed people, a pre-War Hungarian Jew and a contemporary Sussex Traveller. In both cases, the words moved me, and I was sure they were passionate and honest words from the author and the characters. But, in my experience, people don't speak like that, except seasoned politicians, and then, not often. But that's my only quibble in 400 pages.

What I liked best was the characters. All the main characters had more than facet. I have subsequently read a novel by a more famous author which really began to annoy me, because all the 'good' people were good all the time, and the 'bad' people really had no redeeming features. In Hungarian Dances, the main characters had several undramatic flaws, as real 'good' people do. Making wrong decisions, or taking actions for the wrong reasons, or not thinking through the consequences of their actions.

The most vivid character was Karina, the 30-something female star, from whose point of view the story was told. The most exciting was Mimi, her grandmother. Once she had been glamorous, a star violinist, but I appreciated how the author depicted her frailty. Hints she had once been larger than life, but now, diminished by age.

The book was tremendously readable in many different ways. A natural prose style that flowed easily and enabled me to get past the act of reading and into the storyline. The drama progressed at a pace, with no superfluous action or irritating tangents, or affected literary devices. There was some switching between contemporary times and 'historic' times - Mimi's youth in pre-war Hungary - but this was seamless and largely logical. I didn't spot anything incongruous or unlikely; perhaps some would question the use of a (fictional) fatal train disaster as a plot device - too convenient - but as people have often said, the answer to the question 'Why is this happening to me?' is generally 'Why not?'. It was pleasurably amusing to read in a book about the worries about how the transport infrastructure would cope with the London 2012 Games, and feel smug in my superior knowledge that it had coped just fine - but the worries were salient to the dramatic line.

An enjoyable and absorbing book, thought-provoking and moving. When I finished it, I felt glad I had read it, even though I regretted I had stayed up half the night to do so!

Cycling through Chelsea

(This post makes several references to an earlier blogpost:

A meander round Greater Battersea)

I got a nice little book Cycling Traffic-Free London - Sustrans do a series of them for various areas: we've also got the South East. Some brilliant suggestions that wouldn't have occurred to me, and some which are pretty obvious but it's actually quite nice to have a little guide.

We started from home and more or less free-wheeled to Battersea Park, which lies alongside the River Thames. First of many repeating arguments with Jimmy. He says "Let's cycle the most direct route". I say "Let's take slightly longer but avoid as much traffic as possible". Unfortunately, because of the criss-cross of railway lines you do end up on the sheer hell that is Queenstown Rd with all types of different road users fighting for very limited space. 

We had a nice cycle round Battersea Park. Afterwards, I realised that there are some lovely grounds around the lake, and because I'd been concentrating on riding, I hadn't taken any photos! We had a good laugh at a family out for a Saturday walk. Mum and Dad in their 30s, strolling along. And Grandma, approaching 60, running after a small boy loudly encouraging him to be brave to bicycle unaided. Brilliant!

Leaving the park, I was delighted at how cycle-friendly most of the rest of the ride was. Shared pavement across Chelsea Bridge and down through Chelsea. Wow! Someone did give me a 'look' but the signs were unambiguous, and there were many other cyclists enjoying the run. I felt an extraordinary sense of smugness as I looked at people hemmed into their slow-moving cars on a bright sunny day. I was on my bike, and free!

One of the many things I love about London is that although it is a super-busy and sometimes overcrowded city, it is so easy to get away from the crowds. According to Natural England:

• Two thirds of London’s land area is occupied by green spaces and water, of this about a third is private gardens, a third parks or in sports use and a third includes London’s natural landscape features: woodlands, historic parklands, remnant grazing marsh, river valleys and downland.

and so very accessible!

I can't decide whether Chelsea Embankment is attractive. On the one hand, close to Ranelagh Gardens and Chelsea Physic Garden (on the 'to visit' list), with great river views. On the other hand, constant through traffic. Very expensive. Passing along there and Cheyne Walk, Jimmy commented he'd never delivered paraffin there. Kensington, yes, but not this part of Chelsea!

 

Still, nice river views:

 

The mudflats of Chelsea are populated by houseboats. One has recently sold with an asking price of £429k, which may make you gulp, but, given the neighbourhood, is nothing. I hadn't thought of houseboats for years until Battersea in April, and then this ride. Just this summer, someone I know has bought a houseboat on one of the waterways outside London. I get the strong impression that affordability was a major factor. She swears not to be a hippy or boho; another acquaintance has friends with a narrowboat - they travel round but also have a fixed winter mooring. It appeals a bit to me, but if I did it, it would look copycat! 

Briefly, we had to leave dedicated cycle trail to hit the shared road. But the shared road was Lots Road. I was so excited I almost crashed my bike into the Power Station. Lots Road Power Station. Less talked about than Battersea, but just as evocative (several links in my Battersea post). I was extraordinarily jealous later in the day when a friend remarked on Twitter she had been on a guided tour just before it was decommissioned.

As we crossed Counter's Creek - or Chelsea Creek - we were able to see Battersea Power Station in the distance! 

  

I am assuming that this is the location of Chelsea Creek. It's prominent both physically and on a map and is precisely described in this article on the Kensington Canal but Wikipedia says that it flows into the Thames at Sands End, to the South of Chelsea Harbour, and the luxury development called Chelsea Creek also appears to be south of Chelsea Harbour. Re-writing Geography, I wonder.

And into Chelsea Harbour. In some ways, the epitome of modern luxurious living. According to Wikipedia  it is reputed to be the residence of a number of UK and international celebrities. Although the only ones I can think of are Frank Lampard and Piers Morgan. 

What an empty soulless place! When I saw it from across the river in Spring, on a gloriously hot day, I saw only one person, and she was carrying a camera. No busier today, just us and a handful of other tourists. A pokey little estate, nothing in the way of gardens. Waterside bars and restaurants deserted - unimaginable elsewhere in London. With one exception, the boats look unloved - status symbols, not beloved toys. I can appreciate a clean and tidy neighbourhood, but this just seemed bereft, how one imagines the empty cities in China to be.

 

 

 
A couple of sights of some interest from the riverbank. I've called this one Kayaks under the BT Tower

and this is the spirit of Chartwell, which had been done up all nice to transport the Queen along the Thames for the now notorious Diamond Jubilee Pageant.

I more or less stopped taking photos after that, after we sped through Imperial Wharf and Sands End. Imperial Wharf is a strange place. All 'luxury apartments' and an immaculately landscaped garden with no soul or character. Deadly dull. I tried to calculate how many 'luxury apartments' there are in London, even just along the riverside. Not even considering the megarich ones, but ones selling for under a million. And who are all the people living in them? I'm not being judgemental, just trying to do the sums. Take away all the people who would choose to live in suburbia or beyond, for a garden and children. Add in people who've inherited the proceeds of the parental home. Acknowledging that wage statistics never properly reflect unearned and freelance/self-employed income. There seem to be a lot of riverside housing that doesn't by any definition include 'affordable housing'. A new sort of inner-city ghetto, perhaps.

Imperial Wharf is a new tube station, on the London Overground (orange) line. I have never paid it much attention previously, but it lit a lightbulb. Ask most Londoners to name the bridges over the Thames and very few will name Cremorne Bridge. It's almost invisible on Google maps - you have to know where to look and stare very hard. But, by linking Clapham Junction with Imperial Wharf and the line beyond to Willesden Junction, it's a way of getting from South West London to North West London and Hertfordshire without going Underground. Seemingly bike friendly, too. Clapham Junction to Imperial Wharf is a rail journey I must do.

Here, the Thames Path diverts through Sainsbury's car park and onto the main roads surrounding Wandsworth Bridge, no more appealing or cyclist/pedestrian-friendly than on the southern bank. We diverted onto New Kings Road to find a coffee shop or somesuch, but with no luck. I had looked forward to eating our sandwiches in one of the parks around Putney Bridge, but as it was beginning to drizzle, we went instead to a pub. Looking on a map, it seems to be called The Temperance, although I don't recall sniggering at this seemingly ironic name for a pub.

We emerged into even heavier rain, so decided to cross the river to Putney Station. However, the rain eased off and we thought we'd cycle home. We couldn't seem to avoid the A3, and we ended up getting the train from Wandsworth Town station. We saw enough to realise there's no benefit - other then completism - in doing the final stretch of the Wandle Way as it meets The Tideway. But it would probably have been easier to cycle  home via Earlsfield than faff around on trains. Still, I got to eat my home-prepared sandwiches on the trains!

I have updated my London photo album

How to leave Twitter - Grace Dent

I have a specific problem with books.I don't actually believe I'm morally obliged to read the entirety of a book if I'm not enjoying it. But, if I have a book sitting unread and I don't feel I've tried hard enough, I find it very difficult to start a new one. In her favour,  Grace Dent rescued me from Margaret Campbell Barnes.

I was going to describe Margaret Campbell Barnes as a Philippa Gregory wannabe, but it turns out that she was born in the 19th century and died before I was born. Amo on Amazon succinctly summarises my feelings. But attempting to read it put me off books for a while.

I read about two thirds of Grace Dent on a Bournemouth Beach, but then suffered a different form of Boring Book Syndrome. Unfairly, because it's not really that boring. Its style is fast-paced, eminently readable, easy to concentrate on. Difficult to put down, but, to be honest, quite difficult to pick up again.

I don't imagine that she - an author of ephemeral TV columns and Teen Fiction - intended this to be a sociological commentary or to offer any insights into life. Nothing in it caused me to examine my behaviour on Twitter and certainly not my life.

I read a caustic comment that it cast an ugly light on the lifestyle of the almost-famous, but I can't even claim it does that. I do feel that Grace thinks Twitter is solely for her almost-famous clique (her word) to chat amongst themselves under observation from the adoring masses. Perhaps her perception is well-founded. But I follow all sorts of different users for different purposes, and no longer follow most of the Grace Dent clique because they are of little use to me. In general, they seem too conscious that their evey proclamation is done under the spotlight of a watching world. And they often lack the broad experience and insights of non-media people. I occasionally wanted to say 'but, but...' as I read, only, I couldn't really be bothered.

At least it finally got me back into the book-reading habit.

Boqueria Tapas

I am so behind with my blogging that before I have got round to writing about my June visit to Boqueria on Acre Lane, I have revisited. We have been three times this year, which is probably an indication of how much we like the place.

It helps that it's very close to home, eminently walkable - but why walk when there's a bus service practically door-to-door! The staff are lovely, can't fault them. Don't interrupt you when eating, in order to ask spurious questions about 'everything okay'* and yet are very approachable. Also, as happened on Saturday, we didn't quite finish everything on our plates. The waiter, who I think is also manager, asked with genuine concern whether there was a reason we hadn't finished. I reassured him that we had been in that awkward position of being hungry but perhaps not hungry enough to eat a full meal, had had rather a large breakfast (and rather a large snack at the Lambeth Country Show). 

Boqueria do some things extremely well. The seafood paella we had in June was exceptional, better than paellas I have had in Spain. I enjoyed the Rape a la Catalana con gambas - monkfish and prawns I ate Sturday (but forgot to photograph!) And you can see from the photo above an excellent example of how to present a simply described 'Mixed salad' with fresh succulent ingredients.

Less successful was Espinacas a la crema gratinada con piñones (fresh spinach with melted cheese raisins and pine nuts). It was eatable and not unpleasant, but I found it to be surprisingly bland - perhaps I expected more of a piquant taste from the goat's cheese. It was a generous portion of spinach, which led to the dish seeming unstructured.

I also enjoyed the Crema Catalana. Although, it  wasn't as delicious as the supreme tarta I ate in January, and, to be honest, it's difficult to find a commercial Burnt Cream to match my own!

On Saturday, I started with a gazpacho, which was perfect, especially given that I had arrived somewhat dehydrated from a trek through the Lambeth Country Show.

As we left, I said to the staff "See you again soon". A welcoming and relaxed restaurant with good food and friendly staff. 

*I hate it when restaurants do that - it's paying lip-service to some artifical notion of customer service. Good restaurants such as Boqueria are sufficiently observant to tell that customers who are chatting away and eating their food are probably very happy. Interrupting conversation diminishes this.

A trip to Richmond

Having occasional access to a car somehow means we have to use it. I no longer know why I suggested Richmond as a destination. Such a hassle to get there! Google maps suggests a 25 minute journey! What a joke: we encountered traffic congestion at Clapham and Wandsworth Common. We were stuck in near stationary traffic along the A3 and Roehampton Lane. It must have taken well over an hour, an hour and a half, maybe.

And when we got to the Park I felt fed up. So many people had their bikes with them, and we didn't. It would have been ideal cycling conditions. Bright and cloudy and reasonably warm. 

We drove for a while around the park, stopping at various points. I think our intention was to stop for coffee and then go for a walk, but it was just too crowded. I realise that that sounds silly, and it is, but we found a very busy café, so moved on. We found a stall selling ice creams and I had an indifferent coffee. But I think we both got fed up of people. A whole group of young adults clinging to each other by the ice-cream/coffee stall, scared of moving away in case of...goodness knows what, but blocking the way for everyone else. We saw an aggressive male driver in a van who yelled at a woman for exercising her right of way when he wanted to turn right in front of her. And the final straw - I was stood on a small traffic island about to cross the road when I realised that a group of four women walking side-by-side were heading straight at me and seemed to expect me to get out of their way. They were almost on top of me when I said 'Excuse me!'. One of them replied 'Oh!' as if surprised to hear an invisible voice. And they diverted their course. All this in a car park in a park with a 20 mph speed limit. Utterly scary that these people roam free on the public highway!

We wandered near the stables we had seen some weeks earlier when we approached from Wimbledon Common. A stables seems an excellent opportunity to take photos, but it's intrusive to take photos that clearly show people, especially when they are children. So I got a whole load of photos of the back ends of horses.

 

I was also amused childishly by this contraption and sign.

By a series of wrong turns and mishaps, we ended up at Richmond Hill, actually not very far from where we had entered the park. We realised that there was quite a view from there, and a pleasant-looking park. The sun had come out, and we found a parking space. Suddenly, the afternoon got a whole lot better! I had a vague recollection that 'quite a view' was somewhat of an understatement. Wikipedia claims that it is the only view in England to be protected by an Act of Parliament  - the Richmond, Ham and Petersham Open Spaces Act 1902, although many other views are protected under secondary legislation. And it's a pleasant park, although not frightfully large, falling away steeply from the road called Richmond Hill to Petersham Road alongside the river.

I was a little shocked to encounter this statue with a clearly naked arse, and perhaps even more shocked that this couple seemed entirely relaxed at their children looking at its front.

But the view of the river and across Petersham Meadows was more engaging:

 

 

The island is Glover's Island, one of many in the Thames - there's a good list here

I was impressed by the sight of this stadium, and trying to do the geography in my head, declared it to be Brentford's 13k capacity Griffin Park stadium. It is in fact Twickenham Stadium with its 82,000 capacity!

 

We descended into the park, which enabled a closer look at the Naked Statue, which is Aphrodite, also known as Bulbous Betty.

Today, she seems fairly harmless but the outcry 50 years ago resounded across the country, with letters dashed off to the editors of the Daily Mail and the Daily Telegraph. She was deemed unsuitable for Richmond, with fears about harmful effect on the morals of children and encouraging undesirables to the area. People were positively foaming at the mouth. “The lethargic damsel is suffering from dropsy and is hitch-hiking on the back of an obliging fish with the object of relieving her swollen ankles in the cool water.”

From A Nation of Prudes 

The park is pleasant if unremarkable:

     

 
We finished off in one of the nicest pubs we have ever been in, The Marlborough. It was only a pity we were driving, otherwise we could happily have stayed for much more than a pint. It was a large place but thoughtfully divided into different areas: dining room and conservatory as well as garden and bar. The garden was busy but didn't feel packed. On the walls were stern signs about behaving considerably - not asking a great deal but more than what some people consider normal. Despite enjoying my pint, I suffered envy at someone else's properly served tea. The food looked tempting, too: separate main and barbecue menus and specials, too. Not exactly cheap which gives some reassurance they're pitching with quality, not price.

Not really knowing the area by car, we got caught in congestion around Kew Green and ended up crossing the river and coming home via the A4, Earls Court and Chelsea Bridge. On the A4, specifically the elevated section, I feel as if I'm approaching a great city overseas. At this point, we were still six weeks away from the London 2012 Olympics, but there were already so many signs. I felt a frisson of excitement.

Lunch at Chez Bruce

I wrote about Chez Bruce a few weeks ago and soon after I blogged that, we returned. It seemed a sensible way to beat the dark wet gloomy depressing days of early June. A three course weekday lunch is priced at £27.50, so it's no great surprise it gets fully booked up . We've booked at fairly short notice twice, and have had to make do with times not of our choosing. Which is fine - if I wanted to choose the precise time I'd be more organised. 

One of the things I appreciate about Chez Bruce is they have no airs and graces. I have been in downmarket eateries who take a customer's lack of knowledge as a personal insult. A sign of a good restaurant is when they patiently explain what the strange-to-me ingredients are.

I started with Brandade-stuffed piquillo pepper with a sauté of squid, tomato, chilli and aïoli. Brandade is an emulsion of salt cod and olive oil. Piquillo is a particular form of sweet pepper originating from Northern Spain. Chez Bruce say:

We are not into tricks in the kitchen and there are doubtless some who view our food as slightly old fashioned in this regard. We take this as a compliment!

Whilst I have a fondness for places with tricks - if done well - I also have enormous respect for the Chez Bruce approach. I see it as conservative, in a good way, letting the ingredients shine. Not overly fancy; surprisingly hearty, cooked perfectly. I particularly liked how the fish ingredients accompanied the vegetables*.

Although I love vegetarian food, it's a rare event when I opt for the vegetarian main course in a proper restaurant. This time I chose Pea tortelloni with asparagus, wild garlic and mousserons. A celebration of summer, notwithstanding the gloomy weather. 2012 is the year that I came to regard fresh peas as a sensual ingredient, not just a convenience food.The tortellini was delicate and thin, to melt on the tongue. Asparagus I love for just a few weeks a year. And I learned that mousserons are mushrooms, often known as Fairy Ring mushrooms. For far too long I ate only supermarket button mushrooms. Okay as far as they go, but nothing compares to the various nutty tastes of the numerous different varieties. We shared a bottle of very good white with the meal - I forget what now. And they have such an extensive wine list I can't even refresh my memory!

With my pudding I additionally had a glass of dessert wine. It was probably very foolish to indulge to this extent at lunchtime - but all I had to do was to get the bus home and snooze on the sofa. Strawberries in shortbread with creme patisserie (if I remember correctly) and elderflower jelly. Not the first time I have had jelly and shortbread this summer. They go well together and are surprisingly sophisticated. The fresh elderflower is a great foil for the sharpness of the strawberries.

I like the little touches. Parmesan chips; bread rolls I could happily repast on; chocolate truffles with the coffee. Can't fault the food, can't fault the service - sufficiently formal but not stiff; sufficiently friendly but not over-familiar. I really must go back again soon!

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* technically or botanically peppers and tomatoes are fruit. For cuilnary purposes they are vegetables!