Celebrating the 26th of April – St Pancras

I had a wonderful day in London yesterday.  The weather was supposed to be awful – rain, rain, and more rain – but it turned out to be quite good, especially in the afternoon.

The day started badly.  The little newspaper shop where I buy my Harold Tribune (now International New York Times) was closed (permanently?) and my usual breakfast place was thronging with foreign students.  I took myself off and discovered a new cafe in a little side-street nearby.  I cannot recommend it!  The food was sub-standard and the place smelled like cat-pee.  The décor was quite original, though.

Then things picked up.  Dodging in and out of the rain I did a little recreational shopping and bought a scarf with toy birds on it called ‘Bal des Oiseaux’, which turned out to go with four different cardigans I own, Glory Be!!!!  I also visited Berk at the Burlington Arcade, they will probably close by the end of July.  They haven’t got much merchandise left, at least not in my size, just as well since I am well supplied, thank you very much.  Then I meandered towards the Club, and perused all the newspapers.  When that palled, I walked towards St Pancras.  As usual I got terribly lost, but eventually arrived just in time.

Look at those fingernails!

While being lost, I saw an absolutely amazing advertisement; I photographed it so you can see I am not lying.  Now I am as interested in having beautiful fingernails as the next person, but calling it a Childhood Dream is really going too far.  And as for setting up a savings scheme to pay for the manicures necessary to achieve such a result, why words fail me!

I go to St Pancras all the time to catch the Eurostar, but had never actually done any exploring around there, so decided to spend some of the 26^th there.  The weather was still a little iffy; I took loads of photos but had to ditch most of them, but I post the better ones here for your delectation.

There are actual tours of the whole building, hotel and all, but I had not booked in advance so we couldn’t get in.  Undeterred we explored the upper echelons of the train station, a very spacious, clean, modern day living kind of a space which was pretty empty despite it being Saturday afternoon.

There are several restaurants, bars, and cafes all around the roofed central area where the trains come and go, and one can sit at little tables outside and wait for one’s loved ones to arrive.  One of the restaurants even has a roof terrace, not near the central area but outside of the station, where one can overlook the traffic and King’s Cross Station, but it was very windy and quite cold out there, so we sat in the roofed central area.  This is the part of the station where the famous Lovers Statue is located, by the way.

No this isn't the Lover's Statue - it is Betjeman!

That's the Lovers' Statue!

To celebrate the occasion we had a glass of champagne in addition to the inevitable coffee, and got quite tipsy, and talked about the past and present and future and how amazingly wonderful life is, if only you get over yourself and allow it to be.

After that we had a wander around the area, and discovered a wildlife haven just a stone throw from the station!  Sadly it is closed on Saturdays, but I shall plan an expedition later this summer and tell you all about it.

The tower in the background is St Pancras - see how close it is?

Instead of going back to St Pancras and then home from there, I decided to take a short cut.  This is always a bad idea, and as predicted I got terribly lost.  But I am not complaining, because I found eight coins, including a little set next to a vending machine:  one Penny next to one Euro-cent!  

Happy 26^th of April!!!

Underneath the Copperbeach ....

I have always had a soft spot for copper-beeches, every since my days at PSU when I used to sit beneath one of them and drink tea and read the Times after work in the Summer.  There were several copper-beeches strewn across Portland, and I gave them each a name.  Stonegirdle Copperleaf was surrounded by rocks and situated in a parking lot, and Eirek Copperleaf was the one guarding the Library.

Where I now work there is also a large copper-beech.  It lost a limb recently, and since it had managed to escape my naming frenzy so far I christianed it Beren Copperleaf.  I sincerely hope I don't have to tell you why!  Obviously the reference is to Beren Erchamion (the one-handed), who lost a hand fighting the Dark Lord.  Incidentally, there is a cemetery in Oxford where Tolkien and his wife are buried, and the gravestone reads Luthien for her and Beren for him.

Anyway, Beren Copperleaf has all sorts of interesting vegetation planted at his feet, and right now there are bluebells which look absolutely stunning!  So I took some photos.  Pip Pip!

This one escaped!

I Buried Them in a Shallow Grave - Misdeeds of a Gardener

The blackbirds have moved in

I spent the weekend fighting with the garden, yet again.  I was planning to go to London, but something came up and I had to stay home.  Oh well, next Saturday is the 26th so I'll go to London then.  In the meantime I feel sore and exhausted, because my garden is not so much 'A mistress who never fades or disappoints' as a 'Bully with ambitions above his station'.  I am still trying to prepare the garden for major tree surgery by my friend C, and I am not getting any sort of co-operation from the creepy crawlies or leafy fiends who inhabit it.

You will recall that some two weeks ago I cut back the pyracantha hedge (well, one of them) and filled nine rubbish bags with its thorny limbs.  On Saturday I viewed my collection of bags and decided they took up too much space.  So I laid each bag flat on the ground and jumped up and down on it with my wooden clogs (Dutch gardening shoes) until I had reduced their size by 2/3rds.  Then I turned my attention to the back of the garden.

While still eyeing the jungle at the back of the garden, my neighbour, an excellent woman in every way who I am always anxious to accommodate, asked shyly whether I might possibly consider cutting back the ivy, which was wreaking havoc with her shed by growing through the walls and roof, and generally making a nuisance of itself.  I told her about the tree project and she promised to be patient - the many tangled and exorbitantly ambitious green pest could wait.

However, as I snipped and cut off various bits and pieces at the back of the garden, including two entire pyracanthas and several elder saplings, the ivy got more and more in my way.  So I started to pull off a few of its strands, and you know how these things go, before I knew it I was engaged in a major battle.  Stem after stem got severed and pulled and tossed upon the growing pile in the middle of the back garden, squashing my wild garlic and struggling primroses.

I took no heed!  Mercilessly I attacked the ivy, some of whose stems were as thick as my arm and almost impossible to saw through, until I had cut it down to its thickest stems.  There is still some left, but I shall have a few more goes in the evenings and next Sunday.

Afterwards I shall tackle the remaining pyracanthas, especially the one which obscures my view from the bathroom window and strangles my quince tree, and teach a severe lesson to the remaining ivy on the other side of the garden.  There is only one problem.  The biggest ivy accumulation is halfway up the elder tree (which is to be cut back), and in the middle is a blackbird nest!  The parents have been chiding me all weekend long, and I fear pulling down all the ivy, thus destroying the nest and the excellent cover it provides, before the nestlings have flown, would generate more bad Karma than I can afford right now.  Problems beset me at every turn!

For the time being I shall cut through the stems of the remaining ivy but leave it in place.  That way it will die slowly, but the nest and its inhabitants should not be too inconvenienced.  When the baby-birds have hopped it I shall pull the ivy down and throw it into the gardening bags where the other creeping victims of my Tabula Rasa attitude to gardening already languish.

The trouble with cutting back the garden heavily is that it creates massive amounts of garden debris, and where can I put it in this tiny garden?  I tried to buy bags from the council, but they were unhelpful and expensive.  I thought of hiring a skip, but that would set me back the equivalent of three scarves, so it not a good option.  I had negotiations with friends who have cars, but the extent of my gardening waste is so huge that they blanched at the mere mention of driving it to a landfill site - we are talking half a dozen trips, at least.

In a situation like this, when all seems lost and hopeless, it is great to have a fertile mind!  Like mine!

I deconstructed the compost heap, stored part of the compost in bags, and distributed the rest over my flower beds.  Now I had a good sized corner of the garden free.  I dug a hole about three by four feet wide, one foot deep, and built a little wall around it with bricks I had found all over the garden while tidying it up.  Then I threw all nine bags of pyracantha clippings into the hole and jumped up and down on them some more until they were quite flat.  Then I covered the branches with the soil I had excavated from the hole.  I figure I can add at least another two feet worth of material on top of this.  That should take care of the remaining pyracantha bushes I need to cut back.

The ivy is trickier.  If I put it anywhere near the ground it will sprout roots and take over - that's what it had done in my compost heap.  Therefore I shall store all ivy cuttings in a large (or several large!) gardening waste bag until they are good and dead.  Then they can go into the hole with the other gardening debris.

All I have now to dispose of are one or two bags full of branches, and of course the elder trunk once it has been cut back to six feet high or so.  I shall dig a shallow grave for them at the bottom of the garden, next to the one where the pyracantha cuttings lie buried.  Then I shall lay my logs and branches into the hole, add whatever green stuff I still have, and cover them with soil.  There they shall lie, slowly rot down, and provide a haven for all sorts of creepy crawlies.  And when they have decomposed sufficiently, I may plant something on top of them, like a pot-bound Christmas tree, or even tomatoes (I can dream, can't I?).

Lest you think I am completely mad, this is actually an old European agricultural practice, called Huegelkultur.  The only drawback I can see is that this will further increase the height of my garden - I am already a foot above my neighbours because I compost and mulch so assiduously.  But never mind, it might come in handy if there is another flood and I have to flee to higher ground.

So, voila, I have solved my garden waste disposal problem in an elegant and environmentally friendly way, and at little cost.  I am so proud of myself!  Mind you, it is an awful lot of work....

The back of the garden, during mid operation

After I had already severely reduced the ivy

Further progress

This pile of garden waste still needs to be processed

These pyracantha cuttings have all been trampled down and put into a shallow grave

The area behind the tree that needs cutting back has been cleared of ivy and other plants

The shallow grave!  Notice most of the ivy is now gone!

Bremen Impressions

I just spent a week in Bremen.  It was mainly uneventful, but I did manage an afternoon in town of shopping, eating, and just general meandering around.  The shopping was a dismal failure - months of decluttering have taken a toll on my psyche!  Whenever I saw a charming little something anyone in their right mind would buy, a small voice inside me shrieked, "Do you really want to dust this thing for the next forty years?"  Flea markets, shoe shops, the Easter Fair with its numerous sausage and candy stalls, even the local Oxfam shop failed to subdue that little - but extremely vocal - inner voice.  In the end I bought a little Christmas tree ornament and some second hand leather gloves (I got a lot of flack for the gloves from the Little Voice, let me tell you!).  Hic transit gloria mundi!

I did take a few photos of the Easter Fair and the central park to share with you.

Smoking salmon while you watch!

Like some MPs I am a sucker for duck-houses

Decluttering ....

The decluttering continues.  Last Saturday I went back and forth with my little Granny-Porsche seven times to the nearest charity shop, donating my unwanted items.  It is quite cheery walking past the shop every day to and from work now, seeing my donations prominently displayed in their windows!  I am especially pleased with my massive ‘mural’.  Years ago I painted an entire bedsheet with a mountain scene, complete with a castle, waterfall, walled city, lake with a fisherman, and even a dragon.  Lots of little white clouds, too!  It looks totally cute, the sort of thing a kindergarten should like.  I never used it, because I didn’t have a wall big enough to display it.  Well, I have such a wall, but I can’t stand far enough away from it to actually see the ‘mural’, so it would have been pointless to hang it up.  Anyway, this epic artwork is now the background of the charity shop window!!!!  I am so pleased; finally I can see it in all its cheerful glory.  Of course eventually someone will buy it, but in the meantime I admire it twice daily for a few minutes.

Decluttering is teaching me ruthlessness and cruelty.  Never mind an ornament was a Christmas present from a good friend, if it needs dusting it gets donated.  Spare carpets, pictures, curtains, books, wooden sculptures, they have all been decluttered.  This attitude of ruthlessness has been spreading to other areas of my life as well.  I realise I have been collecting not just excess material possessions which clutter up my life, but also spiritual and emotional experiences that clog up my brain.