Final hours

As midnight arrives, less than 24 hours remain for our brief stay in the UK/Great Britain/London.

Could we have stayed longer?

Sure.

Should we have?

Good question.

Much remains to be seen outside the tourist stops.

We certainly could see more remains, more burial grounds.

We have learned more than we’ll remember, as usual.

I, for one, have a greater appreciation for the writings of Douglas Adams, knowing now why he seemed to have an obsession with doors, doors which “love nothing more than to open and close for passing users, and thank them profusely for so emphatically validating their existence,” after hearing announcements on the Tube and on our apart’hotel lift such “Please mind the door. Door closing.  Please mind the door.  Door closing.  Door closing.  Door closing.” repeated over and over sometimes before the door would finally close as if it was testing your patience or making absolutely sure that you were securely away from the door mechanism.

I felt again a love I held for a woman I can never call mine when I sat in Queen’s Theatre in London and listened to the excellent performances of current cast members, especially Rachel Ann Go singing anything and Eva Noblezada singing “On My Own”:

On my own pretending he’s beside me…
And when I lose my way I close my eyes and he has found me…

Advertisements
Standard

Reasonablenews

Haven’t spent much more than a few hours in London, two instances both occurring in Heathrow Airport.

Until this week.

Arrived in London a little more than a day ago, seeing almost immediately that London, like any other large city, represents the world of humans, some subcultures sticking out more than others.

Sitting in our rental flat this evening, watching a bit of tellie, BBC coverage of the 2016 Olympics, I’ve quickly learned that the level of slick television journalistic professionalism of a small island like Great Britain or Ireland can’t compare to larger countries like the U.S., India or China, simply because of available population to participate in television production.

It’s like watching a state-level show on the tellie back across the Big Pond in the States, slightly rough around the edges but slicker than local community stations.

Beats the old days of the BBC, though, which seemed to show dairy farming films on every channel and those period pieces that all resembled one Jane Austen novel or another that never approached the quality of a Merchant-Ivory production.

With offshoring still a popular choice for employing underused humans, I’d think every electronic broadcast could have the number of bodies necessary to up the level of television production to the high quality.

Apparently not.

Maybe it’s like Uber, creating semiprofessional amateurs replacing a professional class of highly-trained personnel earning a good annual wage with workers who are good enough, earning a little extra spending money whilst trusting Google Maps rather than one’s memory for getting a passenger from Point A to Point B.

Standard

image

Where’s the ball?

Image

Water

Nothing like a near freezing day for my first kayak ride!

image

image

My college buddy, David, and I suited up and rode several miles on the Flint River this afternoon.  We saw snowflakes on the way to our first launching point.

Great fun!

image

image

image

A relaxing paddle on the water is priceless and a meditative way to end a day off from work.

image

All that and a Google Maps car drove by while I was hammering in a post for a new mailbox, dressed in my best winter attire, of course — winter parka from my work days in Ireland:

image

…and running pants I wore under a wetsuit while kayaking:

image

Very fashionable!

If only our yard knew that we just had a false spring before winter set in!

image

image

image

Oh well, the puppet in the wheelchair understands that all is not what it seems, especially in ventriloquism…

image

…or electric cuckoo clocks…

image

…time for dinner and a dance, perhaps?

How best to wrap up a day of rejuvenating communion with nature?

Standard