The bravura of the reactions to the 7th July bombings has largely dissipated over here, and a very different mood prevails in response to the latest threats. The sense of shock is compounded by the shooting of an innocent man.
A resident evacuated from his flat was quoted as saying that it was all very well being told to soldier on when bombs are apparently being left on his doorstep.
The Mayor of London says that these are difficult times. Yes Ken , they are but forgive us all if we ain’t too happy about innocent people being shot. ‘Executed’ is the right word.
The Lock, Iffley
As an antidote I take some bread down to the river, the geese are greedy sods, beaks wide open at all times. They collect round me with many sharp retorts and pecks, to neighbours. The more savvy ones just park themselves in front and let their beaks hang open.
“Just put it here chum.”
I walked down to the lock this morning in the rain, thinking it would be both wet and peaceful.
Not a bit of it.
A river-boat with a party of very happy and totally sozzled tourists was filling up the lock, creating an incredible level of noise. Bemused, I glanced over at the lock- keeper. The lock- keeper shrugs, it’s party time.
The crew of the preceding boat, stood glumly in the rain, soggy but determined to go boating. The rain drips off sou’westers, and my waterproof has given up being water-proof. As the boat glides through the lock, the Missus does a bit of musical.
“We’re singing IN the rain!” holding her brolly up as they sail down the river. The audience of two, myself and the lock-keeper applaud her efforts.
A fine silver mist comes off the river as the rain pours down but the ducks seem to be enjoying it, bobbing gently in the middle. Nothing like a good downpour say ducks, if you want to relax.
The geese have retired to their homes, fair weather impresarios – as soon as the sun comes out they will showing off with their flotilla parade, sailing majestically in formation.
I stand on the covered bridge enjoying the muted colours, a mixture of silvers and greys, and the cool rain-soaked air.
A squirrel runs along the fence, he has been feeding well by the look of him, nicely plump. He flicks his tail, not liking the moisture and does a vertical climb up the side of the bridge house, seeking shelter under the eaves.
A fisherman sits over on the far bank, he’s going to be there for a while, rain or no rain.
2 comments:
Oh your photos make me feel so nostalgic! Oxford and other such places are very nice on the eye. But then I don't think I can take the class stratification, larger louts, chavs, congestion charges and most of all the feeling of claustrophobia and generalised inertia that besets the UK. And needless to say the funding for science is awful. But right now the thought of fish and chips and a pint of ale is quite tantalising.
One of the great writers (GBS maybe) said, apparently "Once you've crossed the Atlantic you are always on the wrong side of it". How true...
I find that the class thing is cheefully ignored by a mjority of the population here, even more so with the younger groups.
I think the best flavour of Britain is to be found outside the cities, where life is very enjoyable, on the whole.
Not a life of inertia, but sadly in the academic and science worlds, funding IS appalling, and complacent with it.
I would suggest, that when you go to live outside the UK, it's a split identity problem. Always on the wrong side, yes, I found it so.
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