It’s our anniversary: ten years since I brought MasterB, then called Facebook, home. He was young, less than a year at a guess, infested with fleas. He didn’t want to be removed from the students who had rescued him from the mean streets of Brighton, and I didn’t want a timid cat who hid behind the curtain. It wasn’t the most promising start. But against the odds it has been a success. We are a team, cat and human. An already close team which has become closer in lockdown. Not that MasterB knows about the pandemic. But he has become very used to having me around most of the time, has realised that I generally have three meals each day, not the two he was formerly acquainted with, and he now wants three meals a day too. He has given me an emotional support of which he is quite unaware in this time. Watching him has brought me pleasure.
Ten years ago I didn’t really want him. Now I think he’s the best cat in the world.
But for our anniversary we were mainly apart. Gorgeous weather, with blue skies, sunshine and warmth. We have been getting used to blue skies, sunshine and cold cold winds. Celia and I set off to Stratford to walk The Line, a sculpture trail that starts north of the river then ends in Greenwich. The map on the app was rubbish. But the sun shone, we saw two herons in flight, and before we even started our walk Celia got a new strap for her Swatch in the Westfield Shopping Centre. There were serious shoppers. The queue outside Primark was lengthy. Shorter queues, but still impressive, outside shoe shops and mobile phone shops. If I were a shop owner I would be heaving a huge sigh of relief.
Like London, Melbourne has a wealth of public art for the visitor and resident to enjoy.
My next trail handily sent me into various atriums (atria?) I should never have found under my own steam.
Once upon a time I used to join in with all the weekly photo challenges. Now I tend to suddenly remember them just as they end. I know some people, including regular readers of this blog count themselves as ‘late’ if they wait even a day to put up a linked post.
Broken Pillar #12
Last Friday, Celia and walked around the City of London. It was a therapeutic walk. My aunt had died the previous day, and I believe walking is good for the soul. Certainly my soul felt easier at the end of our perambulations.
There was more therapy in the shape of my camera, in the sculptures and buildings we looked at, in the blue skies. They were good reminders that there is always cause for optimism, even at our saddest moments.
So having not posted a single photograph in months for the weekly photo challenges, I am going overboard and posting a whole bunch at once for this week’s challenge.
The theme of the photo challenge this week is Optimistic.
I had lots of work to do today, by I had a Mole moment, said ‘hang’ to it and set off with my camera. It was just too nice a day to spend hunched over a keyboard checking facts. I was doubtful at first, because there was a nip in the air when I let MasterB outside to perform his ablutions. But mid-morning I went for a teeny bike ride, part of my ongoing programme to get my confidence back, and it was gorgeous; one of those days when the light seems to expand, when neighbours stop and chat in sunshine, when it feels good to be alive.
My ‘phone had bizarrely moved me into a different time zone, and I was startled to find the day so apparently advanced when I had thought I was having an early lunch. It probably helped to push me out of the door the more quickly, I just completed a few quick chores, then got organised.
It seems an age since I strolled with my camera in the streets near my home. This squirrel was making a real racket. Several people stopped to stare at her. I am guessing she was calling her babies, and when they didn’t show, was getting more distressed.
Call it nepotism if yu like, though I don’t think I get sufficient traffic here to give him unfair advantages, I am about to publicise my little cousin’s website.
Well, I call him my little cousin, but he is bigger than me now, has been for quite a while. I was the youngest on both sides of the family; my position was usurped twice over. Boy cousins added to the clan first on one side then the other.
This particular boy cousin was born when I was eight, the second usurper. He was a little blond thing. His son is the spit of him, and he has turned into his dad. Continue reading