Heat and Dust

  Dateline: South-West London

  The blog will be back to its home in rural western New York in a few days. Of course the heatwave is predicted to break just as I leave. Currently we are still dripping and sweltering and fanning ourselves with anything that comes to hand, sleeping with ice packs instead of hot water bottles and in one friend's case, in her back garden.  "Put your bed socks in the fridge" a newspaper said helpfully. Bed socks? In this weather? Britain isn't geared up for high temperatures. A few trains are air-conditioned; most are a rolling steam bath. I never thought I would miss American air conditioning, usually the bane of my life.

 This picture of a heron on Wimbledon Common was taken a couple of weeks ago. Now it's just a patch of mud, the heron still picking his way around looking for snacks in the goo.
   Meanwhile the weather seems to have affected London life in more ways than one. The other day I walked down South Molton Street and Bond Street - at one time pleasant shopping areas, to be accosted every few yards by someone yelling aggressively from one or other of the shops, "Madam!", thrusting free samples at me and trying to entice me in to spend money. Just like those little boys in Turkish and North African soukhs and carpet bazaars used to rush after me shouting "Special price, for you, Madam,special price!" Must be the heat.

The Great Wimbledon Common Nature Walk

Dateline: South-West London

As the country swelters and grass turns white with drought and SW19 winds up the tennis championships and the crowds in straw hats depart for another year, here's a taste of an altogether gentler Wimbledon pastime. A couple of weeks ago, they advertised a "Nature Walk" on Wimbledon Common. It was part of a weekend of nature-related activities, including some unexpected exhibits. 

I was relieved to hear that the pythons, one of whom was called Olivia and corn snakes don't live on the Common. They are rescued abandoned pets. Pets!! Who in their right mind...? Oh, OK, I never was in touch with the zeitgeist.
Then on to more bucolic ramblings among the giant hogweed. Everyone was instructed to look for insects. Well what a microcosmos is a patch of weeds - I had no idea.

There were bees and beetles and grasshoppers and caterpillars. That staple of the British countryside the stingy nettle (Britain's far gentler equivalent of poison ivy and the bane of small children who learn from an early age to look for dock leaves to rub on the sting. Or used to, anyway) is in fact home and nourishment to the caterpillars of the Peacock Blue butterfly. I'll never look at a nettle in the same way again. Kids were handed out butterfly nets.

And gambolled around like a scene from a Victorian children's book. They seemed to love it. It beats computer games any day. So nice they still encourage old-fashioned pursuits. Here's some willowherb.

 And there was I thinking Wimbledon Common didn't have any flowers. And the best thing about Wimbledon Common - there are NO TICKS!  You can stride through the long grass with impunity.  Eat your heart out, western New York!

The Great South-West London Outdoors

Dateline: South-West London

  London is roasting in a heatwave. Just like the old (possibly spoof) newspaper headline that hubby likes to quote: 70 Degrees Again and No Relief in Sight. Except it's more like 80 degrees with a stiff breeze. Wimbledon tennis started yesterday and on my journey down Wimbledon Hill on the 93 bus, I've been watching incredulously hordes of red-faced perspiring people, all bedecked in sundresses and panama hats, struggling up the hill mopping their brows. Some bright spark (probably an 18-year-old fitness fanatic) put on a sign at Wimbledon station that it was 20 minutes' walk to the tennis. In your dreams. I hope they all got there with the minimum heart attack quotient. I have the best idea. I watch on television. Meanwhile, as an antidote to the heatwave, here's a flashback to an interesting corner of Wimbledon called Cannizaro Park, home to some magnificent rhododendrons.

The day I visited, some weeks ago, it was after a torrential rainstorm (remember rain). Most of the blooms were soggy and nearly spent, though this one had a way to go.

The vast rhododendron garden was a wilderness of dark, damp paths, old steps and memories. It belonged in a Gothic novel.

It took me a while to find it - I'd strayed into some bleak, bare, walled gardens that looked as though they'd seen better days - perhaps they've perked up now it's summer. I could see rhododendrons enticingly peeing over the top of the wall but there was no secret door under the ivy. I had to tramp all the way round. But it was worth it.

You could explore here forever.

And cheerfully get lost in the wilderness.

There was a Gothic-looking aviary, full of birds

And goodness knows what else you might find

in case you were wondering, the giant teapot is a work of modern art.

 In the background is Cannizaro House, named after a Sicilian Duke who once lived here. It's now the Hotel du Vin, probably doing well out of the tennis.
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 Tennyson, Oscar Wilde and Henry James all stayed there. The whole lot was sold to the council in 1948 for 40,000 pounds. That wouldn't even buy a parking space these days.

Coming up: Close by, a different great outdoors experience. Watch this Space.

Update: Where are the Flags?

I'm gradually seeing a few more England flags. They're coming out of the woodwork as if they were too embarrassed to show their faces before. I even saw a house in south-west London with flags festooned all over it, like Christmas decorations. Maybe England fans are a little like spurned lovers - they're wary of taking the plunge again. Now we have to hope that all will be well tonight. All this talk about England needing to come second in  their group is daft. For one thing the Germans are out - with headlines in the tabloids like "Out Wiedersehen" and "Wurst Day Ever". (I have been trying to explain to the American family the deep meaning of this to the English. The USA,  hubby muses, has no experience of such a bitter and oft-recurring nemesis.) The first time Germany haven't progressed since 1938.   I hope it's not a bad omen for that country.   So the main fear is Brazil. But has it occurred to the Come Second-ers that England will have to face tough opposition at some point? Better to get it over with. Losing in the quarters is sad but losing in the final is catastrophic. And they could just as easily lose to someone else. This is a very unpredictable World Cup. And surely we remember Iceland? Oh and the USA back in the day.

Where Are the Flags?

Dateline: South-west London

I am disappointed. Here I am in London as the World Cup's starting and I haven't seen an England flag. Well just one, flying out of a solitary van window but that's it.  Nowhere between Putney and Marble Arch can a single patriot be found. Shame.

Not like it used to be when whole streets would be decked out and I'd point them out proudly to American hubby.  I used to joke how the US was indifferent to the World Cup but I remember driving over the border into Canada and every car on the QEW was flying the colours of its driver's ethnic origin. Is this some new fiendish political correctness? Or a wish not to jinx England's hopes? Or, heaven forbid, sheer apathy? Have I missed something? Well I for one (even though hubby has more actual English blood than I have) am not too proud to yell, "God for Harry, England and St George!"

Update: In the Doghouse

  An American friend saw my suggestion (see below) about the alligator sign and proposed something even more effective - namely importing a few live alligators from Florida to stock the Wimbledon Common ponds to keep dogs away from the nesting birds.

  Alas that might be counter-productive.
  This morning I risked walking down to my favourite pond.  I say "risked" in the same way that I risk sitting in the quiet carriage on the train. The risk is that I inevitably get frustrated with someone talking on their mobile. Better sit in an ordinary carriage and accept that I can't do anything. But this morning I was feeling up for a fight. At first things were deceptively peaceful. Moorhens paddled around the waterlilies, a swan family glided languidly across the water. But it didn't last. Along came the first dog walker.   "Can't you read?" I asked .  She pulled her earphone out,  "What?".
  "The signs",  I said, "the signs all round this pond telling you to keep your dog on a lead".
  "Oh he's fine," she said soothingly. "No he's not! " I yelled pathetically after her.
  The next were a group with several large dogs running around They expressed ignorance of the sign and told me not to be so rude. Then there was a smart lady all got up in designer country gear. I shouldn't really have taken her on.  Her dog was so tiny he was what we call alligator bait in Florida. The swans would have made short shrift of him. I should have taken a deep breath and turned away. But my blood was up. "Lead!" I said curtly, pointing to the sign. The word seemed to trigger something primaeval in her.  "Don't you shout  'lead' at me!"
  "The sign", I said, "right there!"
  "Shut up you stupid old  #*!@#$%!!",  she screeched. (It was the "old" that really rankled).
  As I walked up the path, I could hear her shrieking after me, "Lead! Lead! Lead!"
  Well I should have learned my lesson by now. I've had similar encounters on our beach in Florida. There are certain classes of people you don't mess with: the SAS, urban cyclists - and dog walkers.
  But there was a nice man. A lovely man with a lovely dog with a red bandanna. As he approached the pond, he clipped a lead on his dog. I could have hugged him, "Thank you so much for doing that!" He understood and smiled.

In Defence of Prince George

My American friends just love the little lad, "Awwww that George is so cute!" so I feel justified in rushing to his defence over yesterday's drama on the Buckingham Palace balcony. The media have gone to town on how his cousin "stole the show",  "shushing" him by clapping her hand over his mouth during the National Anthem. Well, am I the only one who saw the whole thing in context?  George did not start it.  He was not the first to be horsing around, making silly faces when the Anthem began. Oh dear,  I am really becoming an old fogey but in my day, such disrespect would have merited instant retribution of the swift and clean sort.    Too bad the Royals are so nice and modern.  Such a gesture in front of the world's television cameras would have done wonders for the fightback against political correctness. But I'm clearly not in touch with the zeitgeist. Everyone else seems to think it was sweet. Who am I to judge?