Neighbours and Outsiders

It is often said that London is a series of villages. I’m not sure I buy that, but I would say it’s a series of neighbourhoods. Most people are very aware of and loyal to their neighbourhood. When I came to live in London people would talk about their manor. It’s not a term I’ve heard for a while, so I suspect that those a generation behind me would find it as quaint as I did expressions from the 1950s.

Celia, Octavia and I all live in the same neighbourhood. I couldn’t tell you exactly where our patch begins and ends, but two or three years ago Celia and I were walking in an adjoining neighbourhood when we spotted a notice for a book group. It was behind glass and the worse for wear from condensation. We peered at it, trying to decipher date, location and book. As we did so, a woman approached with a wide, friendly smile. Do join us, she said. We don’t live here, we answered, wary of trespassing on alien territory. We live up the road; we belong to a different tribe. Alright, we didn’t say the last bit, at least I don’t think we did, but I certainly thought it, despite knowing people from this other tribe. That doesn’t matter, said the woman, smile enhanced by a halo of blond curls. You’d be very welcome. Continue reading

An Interactive Cat

It’s hot today. The hottest day of the year so far, somewhere around 30C. I used to have a great little gadget, a window thermometer, but then the block management decided to employ a window cleaner who blasts our windows from the ground with jets of water. Bye bye window thermometer.
I don’t feel like doing much, even the things I want to do. Yes, my washing is on the line, I’ve watered the plants and I’ve paid two bills at the bank, but the last hour and half seems to have just gone by with nothing done.
MasterB was flat out until a fly came in and so now he is watching it as it sits tantalisingly out of reach near the top of the door.

Flat Out

Flat Out

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