I'm swerving past the charity shops today just in case they grab me and force me to take back the many bags of some-people's-rubbish-other-people's-treasure. 'Gotcha!'. Will they recognise me? I hope not!
I drove to Trent Park: it's very rare to drive close to home, but it's a long walk and a complicated bus trip. Would the sea of daffodils be there, even though the main building (supposedly in trust for educational purposes) has been turned into luxury flats? Yes, they are still there, though only 50% in bloom at the moment. It's a bit early for them, I think. Enfield has not yet noticed climate change, although it has taken on board ethics change.
There are murals by Rex Whistler in that building; I know this because not only did I study there, I also taught there. Studying there was wonderful; it involved a long journey from filthy Camberwell, via my sister-in-law's to drop off Offsprog One, up through infinite tube tunnels and out into what seemed like paradise. It wasn't just the lovely surroundings (actual SNOW in winter!) but it was a paradise of knowledge, of a brain finally being ready to learn really complex theories, and a mind broadening to enjoy art-forms I'd never previously seen the point of. Teaching, too: students turned up early for lectures, loved the knowledge, showed off their new tattoos, made eye-contact, asked questions and gave a round of applause at the end of each lecture. It was really stimulating. Then you got to walk down the hill to Oakwood tube station, through the actual oak woods, in a part of Greater London where people didn't strangle each other and steal each other's wallets.
In about ten days time the full display of daffodils will be ready, and people who know about them will make a pilgrimage to see them. Then you'll be able to hear their loud trumpets, playing a joyous spring chorus as they point to the left, point to the right and point up at the sky.. 'Look at us! We're here again!'
And here is a silly thing. I took my car to the automated car wash. It is just so much fun! I remember how thrilling it was when we used to go with McDad when we were children; I couldn't believe that such a mundane thing could be so entertaining. Enormous thundering brushes spin at a relentless speed and approach the windscreen; detergent sprays, water squirts. The car feels little (it is, anyway): over the roof and down the sides the huge brushes sweep simultaneously, whacking the car clean. Maybe time will stop and you'll be stuck there in an endless cycle! Oh no! Help! Finally, the air blows the water off the windscreen, and you're done. What an exciting adventure on a Tuesday afternoon.
It's not that clean, actually. It was shamefully grubby after a couple of long motorway journeys in torrential rain a few weeks ago and there hasn't seemed to be any point in getting in washed while it's been raining so much. This wash is a precursor to a Hungarian hand-wash that I hope might finally remove the moss from around the windows. It's kind of lovely to see it there, but it's probably not very good for the rubber seals. That's what happens when you drive to Scotland: you bring back souvenirs from the countryside and redistribute it darn sarf.
So that's today's adventures.
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