Things can seem dire at times. Lockdown was eased up. Twice. Yet infections are rising. I get confused, decide they do what they want and it’s probably all arbitrary, but there’s nothing to do but follow my instincts and hope for the best. My instincts tell me to stay close to or at home whenever possible. No reason to do otherwise most of the time really. A few times, though, I have ventured out. Last week I even went outside of Hackney for the first time.
There doesn’t seem a lot to say either, since days blur into each other in terms of what I do and manage to achieve. However, I’m still taking photos and these remind me that life isn’t just one big Same Old Same Old after all. So let’s see where the photos take us.
This rare Victorian post (pillar) box is one of two in Stoke Newington. Stoke Newington is home to two rare hexagonal “Penfold” pillar boxes, which are Grade II listed. They are named after its designer John Wornham Penfold, and installed between 1866 and 1878. We found it on a longer walk than I’d planned back in the last days of June. While my legs weren’t happy, it was lovely to see some things I may have seen before but forgotten about.
I liked the lettering on this house near the pillar box. I need someone to translate it for me, though.I spotted some capers in this little shop and cafe. I also saw some great looking bread so I queued and got both.I’ve meant to look into this, but the truth is that I have nowhere to plant the seeds. I love wildflowers and the idea of bees and beehives and honey, despite my fear of being stungI’m always attracted to shops that do things like this. I think I’d like to this eclectic, this quirky, this surprisingButterfield Green, small and hidden away in the back streets of Stoke NewingtonI like these houses on Church Walk, the pedestrian way with no homes opposite. It makes it feel like a secretWe found allotments behind an iron barred fence. I’ve always wanted one but doubt I could manage it any more. I’d go for a rooftop terrace with some lovely planters full of herbs, some vegetables, and flowers. Happy!Choudhury is apparently a prolific Thai restaurateur and chef. I have yet to find out who Paulo Remedios isThere are never any words for stories like this. Tragic pandemic loss of life and a beloved old cobbler shop at Newington GreenThe Newington Green cobbler shop where Kamil Ahmet and his son, Ahmet Kamil, worked. They were both victims of Covid-19. The cobblers is in the oldest surviving terraced houses in London. Built in 1658, they are at 52-55 Newington Green
I was doing well for a long time. I was not feeling stir crazy, actually enjoying the pace of my days, like being on holiday and having the luxury of quiet afternoons to read, nap, write, or even make cookies. Then it all shattered. But first things first.
I made the vegan peanut butter chocolate chip cookies I learned to make at Cake or Death. I had enough for four nights of cookies. Each time I got a slightly different result. I think perhaps there was not enough flour or perhaps Krish mixed them too vigorously. But they were still delicious.
Vegan peanut butter chocolate chip cookies
There were the usual casual dinners. This was the fish finger tacos we eat quite often. Help yourself to all the toppings!
Fish finger tacos
And old favourites like matzo ball soup. So comforting.
Matzo ball soup – I love lots of carrots in it
I even had a go at chicken congee. It wasn’t too bad, considering I had the wrong rice and cooked it only ninety minutes. I’d like to try it again with short grain rice and cooking it for much longer.
Chicken congee with extra ginger and green onions
It was interesting to watch people responding to social distancing. I had a lot of fun looking out of the window to see the spaced-out queues outside the Little Local, and people ‘meeting’ at safe distances in the houses opposite.
So ‘everyone’ is in the same boat. It would be interesting to find out more about what people are doing differently than I am and learn from it. I’ve read some great Tweets, Instagram posts, articles, stories, and blogs but I’d like to look behind the public face and see the private realities.
I’m apparently ‘vulnerable’ due to age so I have stayed indoors since the afternoon of March 15th.
But my day is getting up, taking the pills that stop my stomach from quaking, standard two cups of tea and the usual breakfast, do some online work or don’t, exercise my knees, a short meditation, one or two hours of cleaning or tidying, prepare a simple meal, watch some TV or streaming, email or chat with friends near and far.
On my list – not yet written on the board propped by the lamp – brush up my French, improve my Italian, start a new doll that symbolises my dreams, attack my worrying backpile of taxes, clear out my clothing drawers, actually read the books I haven’t opened enough, start collecting important things so people (and I) can more easily find them – let me get back to you when I wrap my brain around getting that board written on. This seems a pathetic list, looking at it now. Where’s my great novel? Where’s the bodybuilding, the study of something amazing, the saving of humanity from my upstairs flat? Sigh.
Tell me the ideas will come.
But truth number one – I actually have enough to do. See above.
Truth number two – I don’t care all that much about my hair. I am a curly girl. My hair and how it curls (or doesn’t) consumes a lot of my time. Well, maybe not that much, but more than it does yours…I think. Sitting here, though, in my living room, not even on camera for any reason, I’m paying it no mind. It’s pinned up on my head out of my way, ignored, not for anyone’s eyes. And who cares what I wear? Not me…yet. There are more important things to do with my time.
Once a day for 15-20 minutes I sit outside getting some ‘fresh’ air. Note my coordinated outfit.
I live with someone who has OCD – well, it’s OCPD but that’s another story. Germ-phobia is something I also battle. Not everything bothers me and I wouldn’t say that I worry too much but definitely more than some. I don’t have OCD but I do wash my hands quite often and am grossed out by things like ‘double-dipping,’ picking up food that’s dropped on the table (let alone the floor), people using their own forks or spoons to dip into a serving dish, humans cleaning up after their pets – inside or outside…
It goes further with Krish, who won’t suffer shoes in the house or even stored in a room other than a hallway, changes completely out of outdoor clothes when arriving home, and washes everything that arrives from the shop before storing it away, even when it isn’t food. I could go on…
However, the threat of novel coronavirus has revved things up a notch or five. I’ve always been amused at the things Krish calls ‘disgusting,’ since I now am feeling quite the same way.
With the usual sensationalist and alarmist media verve hard to dodge, I’ve considered this – what if (terrible words!) I’m sitting comfortably today, amused at the hysteria and scaremongering, and next week I’m witnessing the zombie apocalyse. In fact, had I been keeping closer written track of things daily, I’d say this isn’t so very far-fetched. Each day I wake up to new situations, hearing increasingly difficult stats and facts, needing to face my personal decisions, just in case. As a somewhat recovered agoraphobic, those italicised words are ones that I’ve spent a lot of time eliminating from my thoughts but now they are creeping back in…necessarily?
Esmeralda lives in Bologna. She’s sent me videos of empty streets, the usual rush hour with hardly any people and no more than a few cars. Italy is in lock-down and there’s nothing anyone can do except wait it out and hope. We’ve talked about it and she feels that Italy has over-reacted. The more I read, the more I think it was the right reaction but maybe not enacted quickly enough.
I follow a Turin blogger, Sonia, who has been posting photos. Last night she posted a good story on how things have progressed. You can see this here . I messaged her to tell her how informative her story was and she asked how I was. I told her about London and how I felt and she let me know she had had to post her story very late that night since she didn’t want her children to hear what she had to say.
In London, things are going on as normal. We haven’t had it as bad as Italy. There aren’t as many cases here. I doubt that will last very long. This is a densely populated city with millions travelling around, crowded together, and these Londoners love to gather in packed pubs as often as they can. Handwashing has become an art, hand sanitiser essential and I’m looking sideways at everyone who sneezes or coughs on the bus.
Last week I went out and was a bit worried about all the bus travel. I sweetened the deal by visiting a new restaurant for lunch. I went to Three Uncles, which serves Cantonese barbecue. It’s been ages since I’ve eaten like that. I chose the noodles with wonton and char siu pork and enjoyed it. I was wondering if the place might be quiet, based on the Sinophobia I’ve been hearing about but trade was brisk.
More rain as I walk along the narrow street to Three UnclesFound it!Inside Three Uncles – it got busierMy lunch! Char siu pork and wonton lo mein
On the way home, I started noticing that no one was coughing…anywhere. I put this down to people staying home if they were unwell, or perhaps being afraid to cough for fear or reprisal.
This hasn’t lasted long, though. I’ve been in the bus with people with awful coughs, rarely covering their mouths and touching everything in sight. On the weekend I went to Tesco. The toilet paper was completely gone from the shelves, there were a few paper towels left, and just a few, more expensive, soaps – liquid and otherwise. Hand sanitisers are nowhere to be seen. Almost every person in the queue had a shopping cart filled to the brim and I waited almost half an hour to pay for my small basket of things. Panic buying had set in.
Toilet paper goneAll but the most expensive hand soaps disappearing quicklyGrab those antibacterial wipes while you can
At the bus stop, a small boy was playing around the seats and eagerly sucking his thumb, a man in the bus was rubbing his eyes vigorously. I clutched my bag close to me and tried not to look.
Krish and I went out. A woman who looked visibly ill, coughed long loose coughs, in the seat across from us, her nose was red and she looked anxious. I tried not to worry too much. Unless we don’t go out at all, there’s no way to avoid all of this.
Yesterday I went to a class on fermentation. I considered not going but thought I was being silly so off I went. My germ phobia had to be put in the back seat or I couldn’t face it. I went back to the Dusty Knuckle Bakery school classroom and this time there were nine of us. I was at a table with three men and everything was shared. We chopped together, threw our vegetables into a communal basin, used our bare hands to chop and to mix.
Arriving at the fermentation class
Apart from an initial mandatory twenty-second hand washing, things got pretty loose. I had decided not to use my phone to take any photos, despite wanting to. The guy next to me took his out frequently. Each time he did so, I cringed. When people came back from being outside the room, only I and another woman washed our hands again. And the guy next to me was the one who wanted to mix the basin of cabbage for sauerkraut with his hands. I tried again to look away.
Later, though, when we were all encouraged to taste the kimchi before it was jarred, his habit of taking a piece and licking his fingers before digging in again broke the dam. I started to feel threatened and upset. When he left the table I begged the other two men to continue with the mixing and not to let him put his hands back in. They smiled at me indulgently. I tried not to panic.
Funny that I remember more of this stuff than what we did and learned. However, I do know that fermentation is what happens when you pack fruit or vegetables, salt, and other ingredients together and allow the main ingredients to be broken down naturally. We made three ferments: A red and white cabbage sauerkraut with caraway, a spicy kimchi, and a beet and carrot dill pickle. My hands were stained with red cabbage and beets – lurid.
I was freaked out but the men were drinking beer – four or five each that night – and not caring much about anything. How do they do that?
We sat and ate together. For the second time I put up with the dreaded puy lentil soup except this time I asked to serve myself and took only a little. There was one big loaf of sour dough bread to go with it and we got to taste some of the ferments the teacher, Adam, had on hand. There was one that had a blue film on top and a truly nasty smell. Adam showed it to us so we knew how funky a ferment could get and yet still be safe. I was the only person who didn’t want to taste it after he scraped away the mould. So unlike me to not be adventurous with food but my phobias were settling in!
We packed a large jar of each mixture to bring home. They weighed a ton! More coughing and spluttering around me on the bus but I made it home and put my jars down.
My finished jars
Today, one of them had overflowed despite being tightly closed so tonight I loosened the lids to let some gas out and tightened them up again. We had to clean the table the jar had originally been on and put the three jars into a plastic bowl under the sink so there wouldn’t be any more messy accidents.
Tonight the WHO declared COVID-19 a pandemic. It’s hard to think of much else. My germ phobia has come to the fore. Not happy about that. I’m reluctant to go out but sure I will. Chances are things will become easier, that we’ll get on top of this and beat it, until the next time.
I hear a lot of complaints about the UK Health System. I hear a lot of fear from my friends in the USA too, who seem to cower in the face of what’s termed socialism. I’ve had the privilege of living in Canada, the USA, and the UK so I have more of a clue than most about the differences. I learned that paying big money for something doesn’t necessarily equal shorter waits or better care. It sometimes equals prettier decor, though.
I can’t pretend to know enough about each system but I can speak about the NHS after close to two decades here. Overall, it’s pretty wonderful. Surprised? Healthcare is never actually free, not when it’s supported by government, who in term are supported by the people – us. When you get a service that’s not funded by lots of private money, it does look different.
Many doctor’s offices and hospitals look impoverished by North American standards but that’s changing. The newer places are every bit as sparkly, advanced, and attractive as you’d expect in Canada or the USA. Systems are automated, cafes are abundant, and the biggest difference is usually the number of people waiting to be seen, even on the appointment system.
Growing up, there was no appointment system for the ‘lower classes.’ You’d show up to a crowded room and your turn would come sooner or later. You learned who was in the room when you arrived and when the last of those people left the doctor’s office, you knew you were next. Sometimes it took up your whole morning or afternoon but it was just how it was. These days if you have no appointment, you go early in the morning and wait in line, take a number or report your name to the receptionist and sooner or later, you’re seen. Mostly, though, you’ll have an appointment time.
You get your appointment by phoning in, but there’s a great online system where you can book your own, self-refer to other services (pharmacy, physio, etc) request medication, fill in some symptoms and get a phone call or email response, and some new things I haven’t discovered yet.
Since Krish has run into some serious eye problem, we have been going to Moorfields eye hospital. There are many waiting room areas and reception desks. There may be 50 or more patients waiting to see 7 doctors in each area. Things run smoothly, the doctors are skilled and personable, but a blackboard is very clear about your waiting time – it’s usually 2 or 3 hours.
Waiting times for things like tests and surgeries depend on how urgent your case is. In Toronto I didn’t wait very long for surgery. I haven’t need any in London, but for things like tests and referrals to specialists (called consultants here) the wait has been pretty short – a week to a month on average. Some very specialised things, like the sleep or the tinnitus clinic, have much longer waits. A little chat with the hospital ombudsman has usually bumped me up nicely.
I went the less picturesque way to the doctor’s office, through a housing estateThe street where the offices are. On the left is a commercial building with storage, the doctor’s office is on the right
At my doctor’s office, there’s a rudimentary check in machine system. You click on your arrival, you click your day and month of birth and confirm your name – the machine lets you know if your doctor is on time to see you or falling behind.
You can check yourself inSomerford Grove Practice – very plain looking. A doctor’s office here is called ‘a surgery’Notice board outside
It’s a rough building and the clinic is barebones. The fanciest thing in there is the TV that shows all manner of public health service announcements in a loop. Yawn. There are three waiting areas and probably seats for at least 75 people,including a little secluded area I assume is for orthodox Jews or others who need privacy. I’ve never counted how many offices there are but there’s a receptionist window – they’re glassed in like we might attack them otherwise, and I have to say there’s never any recognition that I’ve been there before – bad! – there could be ten doctor offices and three or four nurses’ offices and off to the other side, where there’s a smaller waiting area, there’s a door leading to other offices that I’ve never been in. It’s a rabbit warren.
At the entry the receptionist window looms and the first of many bulletin boardsA small glimpse of the main waiting areaA little bit of the main waiting area with the receptionist window at the back. The crazy faces – my attempt at anonymising!
I waited twenty extra minutes for my doctor, even though the machine lied and said he was on time. I don’t worry about this most of the time. I know it means that somebody before me had a much bigger problem than I walked in with. I also know it means that my doctor may be a little stressed – he’s behind. In fact, this is the biggest concern for me – the appointments are just ten minutes long. It’s rarely enough. My doctor knows it but he also knows he has dozens of other ten-minute sessions to fit into his day. I’m not sure how much fun it is to be an NHS doctor. I do like this one, though, so I hold out for appointments with him even if it means a week or three’s wait. He’s tall and young, and dresses a bit carelessly, and he listens, and remembers. He’ll also try anything. When presented with something he feels is important but difficult or controversial, he lets me know that he’s presenting the situation at the weekly meeting and he’ll get back to me with the consensus opinion. This style suits me but I like my Toronto doctor who can take her time with me, knows my name and my son, has a little personal chat and a catch-up and doesn’t leave a stone unturned. Can I import her?
There are notice boards everywhere in the doctor’s office and here is where you see how socialism comes in. There are notices everywhere. This group, that club, this explanation of what your disease might entail, many community services available, and research studies to take part in. This time I find a new poster for Brocals. What’s that? If you’re a man, you can join other local men, who can be brotherly, friendly, do things with you, have a chat. Hmm.
Brocals!
When I first returned to London, I had to immediately get radiotherapy after breast cancer surgery. No one asked me any questions other than medical ones. I had to go for three weeks every weekday to St Barts Hospitals Radiotherapy department, at that time a very old building with very old waiting room chairs and wheelchairs and a gloomy interior. But the machinery was state of the art and the therapists were chatty and kind. I was offered cups of tea, all of my journey money refunded, transport I didn’t accept, and warm chats with a nurse from Macmillan Cancer Care. They also visited me at home, referred me to a complementary care facility where I had lovely herbal, homeopathy, and reiki treatments, all at no cost. They sent me a cheque for a new mattress and then one so that I could go on holiday after the treatment ended. The hospital environment undwhelmed, while the care and support overwhelmed. I can’t say enough for the warmth and generosity during a very difficult time. I went to groups and complementary therapy sessions for years, with free lunches, and new people to meet. I have no idea how much things may have changed but probably not all that much. I don’t like the big waiting rooms or the chance of not seeing the same doctor each time, but for bedside manner the UK has them all beat.
Maybe Brits, like others, don’t like what they have because they don’t know what it could be like otherwise. The weather, which has no real extremes, the transport system, which is huge and efficient, and the NHS, which all in all is inclusive and free.
There’s a private system. Anyone can use it without losing their NHS privileges. Some additional services are private if you need them, like my dental hygienist. Next week I’ve self-referred to a Physio clinic for an assessment. It costs £45 for a half hour session. I’ll report back.
