I love pickles. Almost anything — I don’t see the point of pickled eggs. My mum used to say I was weaned on a pickle. Until I was five, we lived with my dad’s mum – Nana. Nana is a whole story of her own, and I think I’ve told it, but one thing she was known for was pickles. Somewhere I have the handwritten (not by her) recipe, ‘Pickels.’ I don’t remember if they were new or fully sour pickles anymore, but they were amazing. I remember the smell, or I think I do, and I can see the container they were fermented in, filled with the cucumbers, the brine and the generous amount of dillweed. It’s not so easy to find today. I’ve spent my whole life looking for a pickle that compares, even if I know a taste today may prove I’ve already found or even surpassed it. It’s just been too long.
In Canada, the taste for pickles is similar to the USA. A crisp and vinegary pickle with a slight sweetness. The UK gherkin from a chippy has the same sweetness but a different flavour. I see Canadians and Americans who live in Britain yearning for the Bicks or Clausen taste. It’s not for me. A brined kosher pickle is my style. There are a few jarred ones that I will eat but perhaps a Jewish deli is the best place to find the right one. If I ever find Nana’s pickel recipe, perhaps I’ll give it a go.
Toronto has a Polish neighbourhood in the west end, near High Park, its biggest park. Once upon a time it was filled with Polish restaurants, delis and other businesses, as well as Polish churches. When the pope was Polish, his photo was everywhere! Robin and I spent a summer on Roncesvalles in the early 90s. I woke every night thinking there was a fire. It was the smoke from the converted garages behind us, where they smoked sausages and hams. The air in the neighbourhood was always smoky. Luckily, I liked it. You had your pick of where to pick up sauerkraut, bigos, pierogies, pickles, smoked fish, cabbage rolls, and sweet doughnuts and pastries, When I left Toronto and visited again, they were almost all gone. Things had started to look smart and trendy. Now there are only two Polish delis left, although the restaurants and a couple of take-out counters for cooked food remain.
Benches beside the planters along the sidewalkNeighbourhood muralTwo long-standing Polish restaurants in the area
The main street is Roncesvalles Avenue. It gets its name from the  Battle of Roncesvalles, which took place in the Roncesvalles Pass in Spain in 1813. An early Irish settler,  Colonel Walter O’Hara—an early 19th-century Irish settler in the area—played a significant role in the establishment of the neighbourhood. He’d led a regiment that fought against the retreating army of Napoleon at the battle.
Old apartment buildings and Polish churchesUrban mounties, shall we say?
The name means ‘valley of thorns’ in Spanish.) In Spanish it’s pronounced Ron-sess-vie-yes (or with the alternate ‘th’ sound). In Toronto, we call it Ron-sess-vales. When it was first constructed, this was a primarily agricultural area with market gardens.  In 1904 many of the estate homes in the area were sold and the east side of the street became mixed-use. Today, at least at the lower end, the west side stays residential, while the east is shops. The homes in the area still seem quite grand but most are now split up into flats.
This was once a gated community off the main road. The houses are grand
Roncesvalles is where you’ll find many greengrocers with vegetables and fruits overflowing wooden display counters. You go for the Polish deli, Benna’s, the restaurants like Chopin or Polonez, the trendy boutiques, European toys and other goods. I like that they do decorate for the holidays and I must go back closer to Christmas when it will be quite cheerful. Besides, I covered only a third of the street.
Greengrocers (not as lush as in the warm months) and the European style boutiques ready for Christmas
I took the plunge to travel by public transport on Monday. I had a false start when I took the wrong streetcar and ended up needing to backtrack and almost start again – my eyes aren’t functioning too well and the driver was reluctant to help! On Roncesvalles, the right streetcar pulled away too hastily from my stop and I ended up further up the street, when I’d had no intention of walking very far. Walk I did, pausing to inhale the scent of Christmas trees on some of the lots. I’d had a few other false starts to buy pickles, and those times I’d not managed it for one reason and another. I ended up buying my pickles from the supermarket instead of from the familiar “barrels” at Benna’s. Benna’s does stock the double-smoked garlic sausage I like, though. That was my only goal.
There are a lot of Polish customers in Benna’s. They chat happily with the (mostly) women behind the counters. The English speakers just may be at a disadvantage since some of the servers’ English isn’t fluent. Sometimes I get cheerful service, this time I got a grumpy reception. But I got my sausage. Job done. I also visited the hot counter for a small amount of potatoes and some pork stew, which I ate outside since the weather was mild. I skipped the sauerkraut, the pastries, and the herring that I always buy. This was a light shop.
A quick snack lunch from the hot counter, sitting on the bench outside Benna’s
I got the streetcar straight back, this time without any problems. This driver, unlike the first two, was a gem. I’m going to make borscht and use some of the sausage. Crossing my fingers.
I fear I’ve made lots of mistakes and doubled up on photos. Bring on the editors!
Ordinary days. On the 7th I finished my rehab sessions. 90 minutes of education followed by 60 of gym work. The group had started out feeling like it couldn’t gel, but week by week it did happen. There were always the odd ones, the fussy ones, the bewildered ones, the ones who bounded in like this was a heavy-duty gym experience and ate lettuce and raw almonds like it was their religion. What’s said in group stays in group. By the end, we were pretty much a team. One of the younger ones arrived with a QR code to scan and join WhatsApp so we could ‘keep ourselves accountable.’ Not so bad then. We exercised and had the most fun warming up to Blue Jays fan songs, willing ‘our team’ to win. They didn’t in the end, but it was quite a ride. I won’t get into it. It sucked to lose. There’s always next year. For a while, though, Toronto was buoyant. If you lived here and felt the animosity from the USA, this was a big deal.
Then we got an early taste of winter.
They were right. Out came the winter boots and coats. Here we go then. It lasted a few days, about two and a half days longer than I expected.
The first day it snowed, there was enough to shovel.
And then it was like it never happened
When it was almost clear, I had to go to an appointment at Wellesley near Church. This area is now called the (Gay) Village. It’s always weird for me since it’s not always been so chic. Back in the day I’m sure there were gay residents — their biggest stores, bars and other haunts were around there – but there were also the young straight crowd, the hippies. Along these roads they lived together in crowded and awful conditions, shooting up drugs and not coming out for days. There’d be sprays of blood on the walls, garbage on the floors. No one cared as long as they were high. Does this still happen now? Today it’s cleaned-up facades and rainbows, trendy restaurants and boutiques. Everything changes.
I was there to renew my WheelTrans pass. This is Toronto’s public transit alternative to public transport. I got it because I was in treatment and going back and forth while in a vulnerable position. No one really wants to need it but it opened up my life and I feel sure I’d have stayed housebound without it. I’ve seen a lot of the city too, the back streets. Somtimes I doin’t have a clue where I am, the buses and cabs zigzag around in sometimes illogical patterns and then I look up and notice something familiar and reorient. There have been some crazy journies but I’ll skip talking about these for now. (PS I was accepted for another year when I hope to be well enough to actually have adventures.)
One of the perks of the transport is going places I might not have elected to travel to or, if I had, would have been an onerous journey. On the last day of my rehab, I was invited to a get-together for the women I used to teach with. Some of them I’d known since the early 80s. Then we were together, with only a few missing faces, as if we had never been apart. There was a lunch that was mostly breads and a bunch of cheese, but the company was warm. We sat in the friend’s house and enjoyed each other’s company and her amazing living area, full of comfy couches and a view of the trees at the back. Envious, moi?
Suddenly raalising where I was after seeing this hippy bus near Trinity-Bellwoods Park
I went back to making dolls. My brother called this a Janice doll. I certainly didn’t mean to do that.
At least if it’s a Janice doll, she has hair
I really need supplies, though. I try to make my dolls from recycled materials and give-aways. After another rehab appointment on Friday, I went to look at a few fabric stores on Queen Street West. I did find a place that wasn’t too expensive, but I’ve been used to Ridley Road bargain bins and Stoke Newington remnants where the owner would ask me how much I wanted to pay for my handful of lace, ribbon, beading and colourful fabrics and never said no to what I offered. On Queen Street, I succumbed to buying two separate metres of lace – $9.00. Must find more donations in the neighbourhood or it’s the end of my sewing career.
Queen Street West has also changed. I took a few photos, though. I was there, after all.
I did my last Writing workshop (cancer-related) on Thursday and am not sure I learned much. Maybe. I also did my last art therapy workshop on Friday (also cancer-related, as most of my things are these days). I did learn from this one. My art group did gel pretty quickly. We were a mixed bunch but we’ll stay connected, I know it. Our final assignment was to look at common themes from all of our past works. This was my piece.
I learned that home was my common theme. Always with lots of windows, chimneys with evident smoke from fires, and although surrounded by trees and plants, most definitely urban. In this one the Gherkin and a bit of a botched attempt at the Tower of London are clearly there. This yellow brick road had no obstacles. A clear path home. The sky was blue, the sun was out and shining. A wish on paper.
Today I haven’t gone out. I made some noodle soup, mixed a little miso into the broth, cooked a perfect egg but forgot to marinate it, and added some marked-down tempura shrimp for that fancy touch. Winter comfort on the horizon.
I wanted to go to Leicester to see the Diwali lights and to meet up with our friends, Avi and Farrah. It’s about halfway between London and Sheffield and on the same route so that was handy. The lights were being turned on for 24th October and the crazy Diwali day was 4th November, so we were nicely in the middle.
When we arrived in Leicester, I was immediately struck with how much more genteel it felt than Sheffield. Sort of like Bristol but a bit grittier. A first it also seemed busier, at least at the station. I got on my cab app and a taxi arrived quickly to take us to the Holiday Inn. It was a nice big room with a car park view. The hotel in Sheffield had a view onto the next building. One day I’ll have a nice hotel view!
After a rest we opted to not have any dinner but to go straight to Belgrave Road, which is also known as the Royal Mile or Curry Mile. It’s a big Asian community. Belgrave Roa hadn’t changed since we were last there. There’s a big, illuminated Ferris wheel and there are Diwali lights strung along the road with some illuminated decorations on the lamp posts. It looks very festive. Last time we were there for Diwali night and there were big crowds and fireworks. It was manic! This time it was deserted apart from some busy restaurants.
I’d said that maybe we could find a simple bowl of dhal and skip anything fancy, but most of the places had bigger meals or were fast food outlets. Apart from Bobby’s. Bobby’s is the best-known Indian restaurant in the area. It’s a vegetarian hotspot. I didn’t really want to go there so we walked on. I tried to go into a shop or two that were selling Diwali trinkets but, despite their open doors, they were closed – or so I was told as soon as I put my foot in. We walked along to the end of the road.
Right down where it started to thin out was a Chaiwala and I thought we could at least have a cup of masala chai, but again I was ushered out – more kindly this time. They were apparently setting up for their grand opening the next day. And so back we went to Bobby’s and miraculously got a table immediately. Then we waited. We probably waited longer than we’d ever waited, since Krish is notoriously impatient, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go, and it was wet and chilly outside. Finally, they came for our order. I wanted dhal and a puri, and true to form Krish (who always over-orders) wanted dhokla and chaat and naan. And we waited again – a long time. We weren’t alone in our impatience. At every table people were looking around wondering where their food was.
The dhokla came first, then some naan, then some puri – I forget how long afterwards. We ate the dhokla, which is a spongey type of pancake. It was slightly spicy. Not bad but not as good as our friend, Rakhee’s. I had two pieces. Krish ordered a lassi to cool us down from the spice. I ate two more teaspoons of dhal. Krish ate everything else. The chaat never came, nor the lassi. Finally losing patience, Krish asked for the bill – the chaat was on there so he told them to take that off, and the lassi had never made it to our order. The verdict was – slowest and most unfriendly service ever, but the food had been very nicely made. We took a look around the street for something else (I’d barely eaten) but there was nothing and everything was dark – so we ordered another cab and went back to our room, settling for a cup of tea and sharing a pack of hotel biscuits.
Overnight my stomach was so sour, and by morning I felt truly ill. I could barely move from the pain in my abdomen and lower back. Krish lingered in the hotel with me, we fashioned a hot water bottle from my drinking bottle, and he went out for an hour or two at a time, while I stayed in bed hoping to recover by evening so I could see our friends later that day.
Krish found this plaque. Attenborough was educated at Wyggeston Grammar School for Boys!
Krish picked me up a sandwich – an omelet on white bread, I told him. Only they didn’t know how to make an omelet so gave him a fried egg one instead. I got brown sauce on it, said Krish, I know you like that. Oh well, I couldn’t eat anyway. I drank though, whatever I could stomach – some very weak tea, some ginger beer, some coconut water. It was clear I wasn’t going anywhere with our friends. I told Krish, please go anyway. I’ll feel less guilty. he said no, so I told him to call and explain and maybe during the chat he’d change his mind. He did. I was glad for that.[/caption]
He was out for three or four hours. They had fun. I’m so glad. In retrospect, I’m pleased I didn’t go. If my response to spice had been that bad from Thursday, how much worse would it have been if it had happened on Friday night with the journey ahead! Ah well, spice or not – DONE!
I took an extra dose of my meds in the evening, having actually managed to eat TWO CRACKERS! Yay.
It was rainy in Leicester. This was the view from the hotel room and you can see the water streaming down after collecting on the flat roof of the car park
The next morning, I planned to stay in bed and ignore the jibes from Krish about going to seek breakfast. Instead, I took another pill, ate some crackers – AND A COOKIE, yay. I didn’t feel quite right but at least able to move about and talk without sounding like someone had strangled me. Avi and Farrah had said if I was feeling well enough, let them know and they’d pick us up to go over. I messaged them that I was OK and to get back to us.
We then had a lazy morning with Krish packing and me just resting and praying. Just before we checked out, Avi phoned to say he would come by at 1pm. So, for one hour we explored around the old centre, and I was able to get some photos. Leicester has a small but interesting medieval quarter. There’s a big Richard III connection in Leicester.
(Is this Wygston’s House? I think so)Â Â 15th-century timber-framed merchant’s house thought to be the oldest dwelling in Leicester. Wygston’s House is a beautiful example of a medieval wool merchant’s residence.Wyggeston Hospital in Leicester was founded by William Wyggeston the Younger in 1513. This building went up in 1877 as a hospital boys grammar schoolFrom Applegate towards the Guildhall and the cathedral
Leicester Guildhall started life in 1390 when its Great Hall was built as a meeting place and banquet hall for the Guild of Corpus Christi. It’s believed that Shakespeare performed here
A mini graveyard behind the cathedral
King Richard III was killed in the battle of Bosworth Field (Leicestershire) and his body was crudely buried near the present day cathedral. In 2012 his skeleton was found and when it was confirmed to be him in 2013 it was reburied in the cathedral
We bought gifts for Avi and Farrah – a lovely scented candle (winter scent) and some halal chocolate (harder to find than I would have imagined, considering the Moslem population. and we went into the visitor centre and I bought two Diwali items – a bird with a bell, and a string of birds with a bell. They’re both very pretty and seeing the price now, I should have bought many more. Then we heard from Avi that he would leave in ten minutes so we headed back to the hotel to collect the case. That is, Krish headed back and I sat across the road where Avi would be pulling up. The following photos are of the fancier shopping area, Loseby Lane.
It was really nice to see him. He took us to his place by the scenic route (I now surmise) and picked up somewhere from ‘our favourite place’ which was grilled marinated chicken on a bun and some chips. He ordered mine plain. They live in a small community with suburban housing and their place is traditional and neat. it was my first meeting with Farrah, who was wearing a hijab (she wore it for dinner the day before so obviously that’s a normal thing, although I’ve seen Instagram photos of her with her hair showing) and was very chatty. She’s a Computer Sciences teacher and very articulate and interesting. So nice to meet her, two years after the marriage, and already chatting a little through our Instagram pages. I managed to eat half the burger which, despite being ‘plain,’ had been marinated and I tasted it for ages, I also managed a handful of chips.
Avi showed us around the house and then suddenly realised we had fifteen minutes to get our train. Panic! We raced along with us telling Avi, get us there but alive, we’d rather pay the fare again. in fact, our train was 3:32 and we arrived at the station at 3:31! (This is when I discovered getting to the station was probably a THIRD of the distance we’d travelled coming from the hotel to his house – so yeah, scenic route.) We raced through the barrier, up the stairs to the footbridge, all the way along, and saw that the train was on the platform. I tucked my cane under my arm, got down the stairs as quickly as I could, grateful for someone who was holding up the boarding process a bit, jumped in the closest door to me and we took off. This is the second time we have absolutely rushed to Leicester station and just made it. I hope it’s not a trend.
The train back was packed, mostly with football fans – definitely Arsenal at an away game, definitely drunk, and definitely super noisy and boring. Every five seconds or so someone – usually the same person – started an awful fan song which the others joined in or not. The second song seemed to need some clanging and banging of the train seats and overhead railings. Joy! Facing us across the table sat a man with his young daughter. She was watching a video on her tablet the whole time so wasn’t subjected to the swearing that was part of the whole thing. Anyway, no ticket inspectors, no hassle, straight through to London in an hour. And here’s the song:
F*ck em all!
F*ck em all!
United, West Ham, Liverpool
Cos we are the Arsenal!
We are the best!
We are the Arsenal!
F*ck all the rest!
At St Pancras, my taxi app was painfully slow and eventually it told me no drivers. I tried once more, and we settled for a bus and ended up taking two buses after seeing the best bus was 19 mins away (what???). We arrived home 90 mins after our actual arrival in London. A bowl of soup and a small slice of bread and off to bed with a hot water bottle. So, all in all, a bit of a blip here and there but a good trip.
I’m pretty sure I went to the first one ever . Somewhere I have the photos to prove it. I do remember, whenever that first one was, that there was a bunch of lovely pumpkins that were lit up at night and they had been carved during a two-day period by children. Fast forward ten years to this festival.
The garden had a stockpile of over a thousand pumpkins and invited people to come to carve them during one crazy weekend. I asked my mentee if she’d like to come carve one with me last Saturday. At the bus stop to go up to the Curve Garden the buses were going to be uncharacteristicaly late. There was an 8-minute wait for buses that usually come a few minutes apart. So I was going to be late. I sent a Whatsapp Message to say so and back came the response.
I didn’t know what that meant but I did know there were over a thousand pumpkins to carve so I formed a mental picture of that. By the time I finally arrived at the entrance to the garden I already knew my mental picture fell a bit short.
Fall is falling! Dalston SquarePeaceful so far!Still peaceful at the entrance but look beyond
When I got inside I could see that the carving tables were already full of busy carvers. The place to get the pumpkins was at the far end of the garden and there may have been 50 people in the queue. I cant believe I found HG somewhere in there but we quickly decided that one pumpkin, at £3 a pop, was the way to go.
Queuing for a pumpkinCarved on the left, new ones on the right! Piled highLet the carving commence! There were several carving tables, all with a monitor
We found a table and took turns holding the baby, who was decked out in a pumpkin theme, drawing lots of attention. I had the job of hollowing out the pumpkin while HG would carve. Baby duty prevailed. We talked about the rise of Halloween events in the UK and how much we missed candy corn, and the pumpkin was done. We added it to the growing stash on the stage and went to get a table and a hot drink.
I haven’t been to a movie in quite some time. I haven’t been to the theatre in even longer. Last week I did go to a play – a comedy called Dead Funny. It was put on by a local theatre group called The Tower Theatre Company.Â
I had actually seen this comedy advertised in the west end not so long ago but didn’t get to see it. Friends at the pub meet for Nextdoor told me they were going so I bought two tickets and along I went.
Set of Dead Funny
Dead Funny has five characters. Two couples and a neighbour. All but one is a member of the Dead Funny Society, a group that meets to honour dead comedians. When the news of Benny Hill’s death reaches them they plan to meet to remember him. Of course everything unravels. I’d say that it wasn’t as ‘dead funny’ as expected but in the second half there was enough slapstick, scandal, and mimicry of the great British comics to make it funny enough.
The Tower Theatre Company are called the busiest troupe in inner London, performing about 20 plays a year. They have taken over a building that has housed a church, a synagogue and a women’s gym, so it’s an intimate space. I’ll definitely go to see more.
Actually the funniest, and most embarrassing, part of the evening was near the end when my phone, which I was sure I’d silenced when we first went in, started to ring. I stumbled out of the theatre space to turn it off, and apologised all over the place when the play ended.
On Sunday, I did something new. I had decided to buy a table space to show (or sell) my dolls at a school fair. I didn’t expect to sell any but I was interested to see what it was like, what people might ask, and to ask them questions about the dolls.
I spent some time from Thursday to Saturday making props for the sale. I made two park benches, a Victorian lamp post, and I made a row of terraced houses with attics and chimneys, which I planned to stand up behind the park bench scene. I decorated everything with painted vines and flowers – not wanting to squander too many hours – and it was cute enough.
I made some notices to go with all of this and put together a tool box with things like tape, clips, pencils, paper and the like. A friend had said she’d take half the table and sell her baby shoes but pulled out in the week before. So I was on my own. Luckily, Krish said he could come along to carry things and help me out.
The morning was very rainy but I’d had an email with ‘rain plans.’ This was the first I knew that it was going to be held outdoors. I hoped that it would rain but it didn’t. Instead it was just very windy. Very windy! It was really clear that I’d need a lot of tape to keep the house pinned down to the table. I managed it but it took about three minutes to figure out that it wasn’t going to work at all. Things were flying around.
The playground with a play bus at the backThe school
So I resorted to laying the houses flat onto the table and anchoring the park benches and lamp post as best I could. There wasn’t a hope in hell that my dolls would stand up to much either so I lay them flat on top of the sari fabric we’d taken along as a cloth. Its a miracle the cloth stayed put, with the help of a bunch of clips to weigh it down. A couple of dolls try to launch their way off the table but were rescued.
My table. Not the tidy plan I’d started withThe houses firmly taped down and the dolls propped against the benches to try to anchor themThe dolls laid flat, hair flying all over the place. The sari cloth heaped so that it didn’t get swept away
No sales. A few curious people came by and I chatted with them. I asked them about the value of the dolls and, if they had children with them, I asked about names for the one they showed the most interest in. They were surprisingly uninventive but of course Elsa was popular, as was Rapunzel. Two little girls wanted one but were scared away by the price. I’d decided to try £20 to see how it would go over. I’m still not sure.
A few punters!
The crowd was digital daddies and yummy mummies, the children somewhat precocious. As Krish observed, this was very unlike the Hackney Central crowd.
I wonder if the little house was for infants or the headmaster’s family
We stayed about two hours of the four (very happy that I lasted that long) and wandered off to the main road to wait for a bus. The homes here were smaller than our area but quite gentrified.
Three bags this size!
At Homerton Hospital our bus was held up for quite a long time – Krish says it was ten minutes but it felt much longer – but we made it home with our stash.
I’ll do it again if I see another cheap table top sale. I’m not sure where I’ll go with this. I’m not keen enough to sell the dolls but I am keen to give them homes and regain the space they take up in mine. At the next one I’ll ask any children that show interest how much they want to pay and let them go. That would feel good so I’ll go with that plan.
