Ding Dong Bell, Pussy’s Through the Window

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Not Cat’s pink nose nearly made me call him Rudolph, and as of today he has another yuletide dimension; bells. Plural. Up until yesterday he had one bell. I bought some more thinking to attach them to his collar to warn the birds. But he has become a two-bell cat for his own safety, not that of the birds. Continue reading

The Molecules of Cycling

I find it hard to say I am a cyclist. My daily journeys on two wheels hardly seem to merit the term. I’m a person with a bike, which I acquired by accident rather than design. That probably makes me even more of a fake.

I was mildly embarrassed today when I was hailed by a real cyclist, one who cycles lots of miles and threads his way through London, as one of his tribe. I felt like a complete fraud.

I am the most faint hearted of bike riders. I am scared rigid of lorries, of fast cars that drive within ten feet of me, of turning right, of unheeding pedestrians, of unknown roads, of potholes. Continue reading

Blue Sky November Day in the Garden

Looking at yesterday’s photographs, I am so struck by the blueness of the sky. The morning was misty, but then the mist burned off. Today, it started misty again, and by and large it stayed that way. Such a contrast.

And Tonight

I was at Somerset House ice rink, which may have been too good a thing given how cold it was already.

It’s very pretty and the perfect pre-Christmas activity. This was a private thing. I think it opens to the public tomorrow or Tuesday.

A drink with friends at the nearby Coalhole rounded it off nicely.

Cheers!