Saturday, January 17, 2015

3BT

The weather changes before first light.  After leaving Reading in a bitter frost, on passing through Swindon, I see from the early train that the roofs of the terraced houses and the streets are white with snow.  At the station itself, large flakes of snow whirl around the lamps and settle on the hunched shoulders of the boarding passengers.

In Wiltshire, arriving in the warmth of their cosy little house, i find my daughter and her two sons glowing with vitality and intelligence.

Back at home in time for tea, discovering I have won six pounds and ninety pence on the euromillions.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

frederick sandys ... showing off a bit !

















































... i prefer the drawing, but the painting is jolly good fun !

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Thursday, December 4, 2014

3BT

A rarther ragged looking buzzard sits motionless at the centre of a village cricket pitch, facing the passing traffic on a busy road.

Yet another stranger reads the word cheese on the front of the truck and performs the appropriate facial expression.

I ring a doorbell and the girl who opens it has big bright laughing eyes and a fully freckled smile.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

apropos de nuffinque






















... this is a second attempt at one i "facebooked" earlier this week

Sunday, November 9, 2014

AN ODD CONVERGENCE





















I have woken early, immediately known I cannot go back to sleep, and then knowingly gone to the station at Clapham Junction far too early to catch the first train on my journey west.

The coffee shop will not open in time, although nowadays I am not an addict.  So I mope and loiter, on the street and then in the street-level precinct, before proceeding along the deserted passage towards the platform, passing other staircases to other platforms as I go.

At the foot of the very first staircase, a tiny movement “in the corner of my eye” catches my attention.  It is a tiny grey mouse.  I can’t remember the last time I saw one, and so I stop to stare.

How very like a toy mouse.  In the shadows this grey fluffy ball of energy is only just visible, smaller than a table-tennis ball, whizzing to and fro in its state of perpetual hunger, whirring legs out of sight, the long tail held dead straight and horizontal, the eyes mere pinpricks of reflected lamplight.

Footsteps approach in the echoing passage and my reverie is broken.  I become self-conscious about my fascination and turn to leave.

And I find myself face to face with a very pretty bouncy strutting bright-eyed teenager, going home in party clothes.  On her nose she has painted a black spot, and beneath it she has sketched out with mascara some cat’s whiskers.

the boys ...Specimen A and Specimen B

















Friday, October 31, 2014

3BT, no, four ! no, five !!!!!

In the wee small hours, a small bespectacled drunk with a rasping Balkan accent gets on to the night bus as i’m going in to work, and he refuses to show a pass or a ticket.  He stomps to the back seat of the bus and sits down with his arms folded.  When the driver stops the bus engine and asks him again, the drunk accuses him of being insulting and untrusting, and the air turns blue as he vainly attempts an appeal to the silent passengers for sympathy.  The driver opens the doors and very politely asks him to leave, but the drunk refuses with another flock of expletives.  Sighing, I get up and walk through the bus to have a word with the man.  I could probably pick him up and carry him out.  Instead, i sit quietly beside him, tell him the only rude person on the bus is himself, and then i remove his spectacles and get off the bus myself, and walk briskly away in the direction of travel.  He follows in something of a panic, whining that his glasses cost over £300.  With a smile, i stop and hand them back, and then skip back on to the bus.  As the driver shuts the doors, which always seems to take forever, the drunk rushes up and gets one foot on the threshold, but i place my hand in the middle of his chest and out he goes again !  And off we go.

( Earlier, at Clapham Junction, a cherubic young woman wearing tiny red devil's horns was practising some really elegant dance moves by the bus stop for ten minutes ... and she really could dance ! )

Later, at first light, Ashdown Forest turns pink.

Twelve hours later, as I slump grey-faced on the way home, the head of the slender lady sitting next to me on Vauxhall station is suddenly illuminated in a late afternoon sunbeam.  She has silken red hair and orange freckles. And how they do glow !  Halloween colours !  Hurrah !


The loved one struts in from a good day at the library and presents me with "Enemies At Home", the latest Lindsey Davis.

Thursday, October 30, 2014