putney heath by moonlight

breakfast is served ... wheat-free rye bread bought from the natural cafe in northcote road ... satisfyingly heavy

25 of joe hyam's "handbook for explorers" sonnets have gone into a glossy folder ... until he ever publishes them

http://handbookforexplorers.blogspot.com/

the loved one has brought me some posh nougat from the south of france ... now where can i hide it ?

one of my favourite trees near danehill

kurt vonnegut, r.i.p.

sandbanks in dorset ... come on in, the water's lovely !

aaah ! cool feet ! perks of the job

the mill at elstead on a perfect spring morning

wild flowers in the churchyard at east tisted in hampshire ( three miles west of selborne )

the view from the cab at the end of the road ... looking across from sandbanks towards the studland ferry and the purbeck hills

insomniac photography ... too tired to read, too excited by the evening's soccer ...

i burned the porridge ...

... whilst searching the internet for a video of lola flores

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8Sdjf4IzmU&mode=related&search=

ministry of agriculture food and fisheries in old scotland yard, whitehall ... again

easter sunday ... the bells of saint martin's in the fields were chiming in an expression of purest joy

ministry of agriculture food & fisheries ... carvings by james woodford

hop factors ... opposite the borough market

welsh congregational chapel in the borough, southwark, not far from quilp street

... not to mention marshalsea road, scenes of dickens' childhood miseries

insomniac photographer tiptoes to tripod

3bt

Yesterday morning, tiptoeing out to work at three forty-five, I forgot to take my camera. Naturally, I was assailed by beauty.

Driving west along the Chelsea embankment at six, in a clear still morning, the gold of the Battersea peace pagoda was reflected in a vertical yellow band upon the high surface of the smooth river, and beside it was the pale orange reflection of the setting moon, & as I drove further, so the two reflections gently swapped places as the moon's orange reflection, in pursuing me, overtook that of the pagoda.

Later, during a delivery in the precincts of the Chelsea football stadium, I found a long rough wall was being clad in a vinyl poster ... a massive team photo, the players at the centre, their bodies then repeatedly “photoshopped” ad infinitum to right and left, superimposed with the heads of hundreds of their supporters. In front of this larger than life-sized and perpetually silent audience, two coach loads of schoolchildren from France had just arrived, adolescent girls & boys, they had poured out of their confinement with a football & were playing their own beautiful impromptu game of soccer in the sunshine.

As I was going home on the bus, drained of energy after a difficult day, a lively teenage girl got on with a brand new push chair and a brand new baby. Sitting in the next seat, sharply profiled in the late low sunlight, she lifted him in her arms and kissed his tiny face, smaller than my fist, about twenty times, alternately on one cheek and then the other. He accepted the compliment with good grace.