Uncategorized – Page 2 – slightly weird

20th September 2020

Canary Wharf – our Toronto fix

Saturday, 5th September, 2020

In ‘normal’ times every now and again we would go to Canary Wharf to get our Toronto fix. It has that Toronto look and no wonder. Its earliest buildings were built by the Canadian company Olympia & York. There are even street names and apartment and shopping complex with Canadian influences. Everything is very modern and there’s even an underground shopping concourse. But we haven’t been for a very long time.

We had an idea that the weekends would be very quiet in the area and we’d be able to walk around and look at the river. And so we jumped on the 277 bus that takes us from Hackney Town Hall all the way to Canary Wharf DLR station.

Victoria Park Village from the bus. A more detailed look is on my Must Walk list

On the way, we pass through Victoria Park Village, Victoria Park itself, and Mile End. Victoria Park was my closest childhood park. I loved the playground there and also the pond. My grandfather would take me fishing at that pond. We’d buy maggots and mealworms in a little shop along the Roman Road and off we’d go. On the way down to the docks (where Canary Wharf is built) we pass by my old childhood home of (the now demolished) Lessada Street, just off Roman Road, and then down under the railway bridge where where the First Flying Bomb fell on London on 13 June 1944. It’s also where I saw a strange and scary site when I was about three years old.

I was walking with my dad – I loved those walks – and saw a fire under the bridge. There was a man and a motorcycle lying there in the hollow and they were alight. I asked my dad about it and he told me it was a guy (for Guy Fawkes Day) and hurried me on. When I was 14, I told my mum what I remembered and that I was sure it was a motorcycle fatality. She looked a little white and then confirmed it. She told me that my dad had hoped I would forget and never to tell me. He had been very shaken. She then asked me never to tell him that I knew. I kept my promise.

I didn’t take photos after Victoria Park. Photos from the bus are never very satisfying but it does mean there’s a gap.

Further down the road, we ride along Burdett Road. Here I have memories of visiting my great aunts – my mum’s mum’s sisters – in their tall, grand houses, or so they seemed in those days. And I remember the little Jewish grocer where they had barrels of olives, herring, pickled cucumbers – with a name something like Vlit Vlosh…who knows. And on down to Poplar, past the canal, and you see the river bank.

Except today there were dozens of people. At our stop, we noticed the same. Lots of people. We’d be wrong in our guess that it would be dead down there. They obviously all had the same idea that we had, to be somewhere ‘quiet.’ Oh well, nothing to do but carry on and see whatever we could.

The main financial district of London is in The City, the original square mile. Canary Wharf is the secondary business district. It’s on the Isle of Dogs and is named after one of the quays of this dockland area, No. 32 berth, where fruit was unloaded from the Canary Islands. And that’s why it’s called the Isle of Dogs. The Canary islands gets its name from the large dogs found there by the Spanish (Canarias from Canine). Canary Wharf is just one piece of the Docklands area and it has many tall buildings, including what was once the tallest (now third tallest) in the UK, One Canada Square, with its iconic pointed roof. Docklands was once just that, a large area of docks on the River Thames. As a child, I learned it was an area that was to be avoided, and also the place where the majority of bombs were aimed during the second world war. East India Docks, West India Docks – dangerous and dirty or not, it all sounded very exotic to me.

These once dangerous, dirty docks are now sparkling and modern roads, full of gleaming office towers and quayside cocktail bars. For years it was like a secret part of London known only to bankers and the like, but based on the number of people we saw here, I’d say the secret is out.

And sometimes you get reminders you are on the Thames

Wandering around the Canary Wharf jungle!

Amidst the towers, an oasis of green

Crossing the river here we found a little food truck area — Crossing the South Dock bridge here we found a little food truck area

From over here, we could see the O2 building — From over here, we could see the O2 Arena

In the underground concourse on our way to Waitrose. Doesn’t it look like Toronto?

The floors are filled with tiles showing the history of the area

We’d outstayed our two window for getting home again, so home we came. Meanwhile, I found a good interactive map of the Canary Wharf area at https://canarywharfmap.com/ if you’d like to have an overview.

7th April 20207th April 2020

Sheltering in Place – Won’t you be my neighbour?

Tuesday, 7 April, 2020

I’m losing track of numbers but seems like 29 days of #shelteringinplace for me now. At least this is the 29th day. and it’s just beginning.

I’ve started thinking about neighbours. Each day I spend some time looking out of the kitchen but mostly living room windows. I’m trying not to be annoyed at how many people I see in their cars, walking, running…the buses are mostly empty, with one or two passengers…there are trains passing in the back of the house but I can’t see how many are riding.

I don’t know any of the people but I do see the same faces sometimes. Krish spends more time looking out from the kitchen and he knows some of them by sight and he likes to tell me when ‘umbrella man’ shows up each day. There’s a man who shepherds his three children across the road every day, and they’ve been on bikes before, but are on foot now.

One day, as I stood at the living room window, I saw someone stop to look at my sign, and then at me, then wave. I waved back. Suddenly, I felt connected. Later Krish told me that it was ‘Nick,’ one of the community garden planters who we’d chatted to on that day. He lives some doors away and yet we don’t really know him or his wife, Nicola. I always liked that – Nick and Nicola.

This house is quiet. Neil downstairs may be away but he’s as silent or absent as ever. I’ve never spoken more than a few words to him – good morning, how are you doing, what great weather… The ground floor was being renovated for weeks before all this started but there are still no tenants. There are housemates in the lower level place but they don’t talk. The other day, as I sat on the ledge to get some air, they came out with rubbish but they didn’t acknowledge me.

This morning I was thinking about how different this all is from my childhood days. We always knew our neighbours. Their faces and attempted names came to me this morning. No names from my early childhood but snippets of memories of playing hopscotch and kiss-chase. My grandmother – nana – knew some neighbours. One Friday she took me to a prefab where friends were lighting candles. We’d never done that and I was fascinated.

Me and Blackie — I’m not a fan of dogs but this one was my neighbour in East London. His name was Blackie, and it’s the only neighbour name I remember

I remember no one from our days after leaving the east end for Essex, except my ‘boyfriend,’ Steven, whose dad danced with me the way my dad did – where I stood on his shoes and he moved his feet.

Margaret and I in Langholm — A heady summer with Margaret in Langholm, Dumfriesshire. She was a year older and a foot taller than I was

I remember much more from our time in Dulwich, where I had actual neighour friends – Brenda Miller, who was chubby and who had her period at age 9, rendering her not such friend material – they called us Bread and Jam. Margaret whose mother Peggy was from Scotland – and with whom I went on holiday to Langholm in Dumfriesshiere. There were the Butcher boys who were strapping and ate raw Spanish onions instead of apples. Christine who helped me steal school supplies. Jackie, my best friend, until she started dating the boy I had a crush on – she had six brothers and sisters, a crazy full household of black-haired light-eyed Irish kids.

And my cousins, not quite neighbours until my cousins, Terry and Netta, and later Tina, moved to where we lived in Dulwich. All my cousins were my constant companions when they were around, staying overnight with them, and they with us, and always knowing we could pick up again any time.

Growing up in the East End, you were likely to be known, even by those who you didn’t know. When I returned to London from Toronto for a holiday and my grandmother, nan, and cousins still lived at Mile End, I ventured into a neighbourhood shop. The man behind the counter looked at me and said ‘You’re one of Lottie’s, aren’t you?’ He meant my nan, Charlotte or Lottie. I asked how he knew, and he tapped his nose. He knew who I was by looking at me. Could that happen today?

Cousins at the seaside — Striking a pose with Netta, June and Ruth

In Canada, my parents always had friends as neighours. Jean and Jock from Scotland, Bob and Mary, Ellie and Fred – all from Liverpool. Another Jean, Gunn, whose husband was a filmmaker until he died suddenly. Marilyn, a ballsy blonde, who fed her dog sweets but forbade them to her children. Many more.

When Robin was growing up, I had neighbours in Toronto. My closest friend, Denise, who in turn had a great collection of neighbours who practically lived in each other’s houses, and who I could borrow as my neighbours whenever I wanted. And another neighbour, Jan, who lived in the next street over. She had a huge back garden and three girls. I was there when the fourth child, a boy, was born. I never had to be alone.

Denise and I — With Denise one Halloween. We did holidays right!

Times really changed. No more knowing your neighbours. There are quick exchanges of words from time to time. No one has sparked my interest enough to invite in for tea or hope they might do the same. Well not no one. And yet that’s my dream. Watching the Dick Van Dyke show when I was young, my eyes would light up when Mary’s neighbour, Milly, would pop in unannounced to the kitchen door and make herself immediately at home. Where was my Milly? Where is my Milly? Continue reading “Sheltering in Place – Won’t you be my neighbour?”

12th November 201920th February 2022

Liverpool, my old friend

Tuesday, 12 November, 2019

I went to Liverpool. That city and I go back a way. I first went there as a starstruck Beatles fan. (And that’s a whole other story – of becoming a fan.) I wasn’t, as my parents suspected, going to see the Beatles though. I should have hated that city since on arrival my friend, also called Janice, had her backpack stolen with all her money. So now we had to share my money. (It’s also possible that it was I whose stuff was stolen and we shared her money – memories are odd like that.) I’ll save talking about my adventures for another time but I grew to love that city. I met a girl in the line up for the Cavern my first night there. Anne and I are still friends. And on subsequent visits I met another girl, Elsa. Elsa and I still speak often.

A few months ago, she contacted me to let me know she and her husband, Kenny, were having a fiftieth wedding anniversary at the Cavern. A few shaky days where I thought I couldn’t go and then suddenly the tickets and hotel were all booked.

We expected two days of rain but off we went. The journey was easy and the walk to the hotel fast. I wasn’t sure what to expect from our room but it turned out to be quite lovely. There was a large bed and bathroom and then down a step to a living room area. The hotel used to be part of the Bank of Wales building next door so there’s a masculine feel to everything but we were comfortable.

We wandered around a little, had a less-than-satisfying lunch, then back to the hotel before leaving for the Cavern. We were really close to it. If we went through an alley opposite the hotel we were actually right on Mathew street where the Cavern is. It’s like my feet lead me there. But it all looks so different and there are tourist things everywhere, statues of Beatles at street level and higher up on the buildings like angels or gargoyles looking down at the crowds.

It’s so clean there now, though. It used to be dirty and feel dangerous and you’d often see rats, even swarms of them, moving from warehouse cellar to warehouse cellar looking for food. No rats in sight now. I’d like to say it’s a cool area but it’s succumbed to tourists’ whims. Neon lights everywhere, souvenir shops, mediocre places to eat, tour groups…

The new Cavern is much bigger than the old/original, and the stairs are much less steep, going down several landings deep underground – this used to be just two turns of some very steep stairs and I’d always fear falling down them. In this new space, the first room you land in is the same as the original Cavern. a low-ceilinged, brick arched space with a side section for dancing. You could almost be back fifty years but this is a sanitised version.

New Cavern Club — The new Cavern Club, echoing the old. The centre area has the iconic stage and audience area and the area to the left looks the same but it’s for dancing. Beatles Tribute Bands play here.

It’s not raunchy, and the smell of disinfectant and scouse (the Liverpool stew that gives the people their name) is gone. Now there’s a smart bar and lots of neon, and posters everywhere, and framed photos of bands who played on the original stage. If you walk along the long bar you see an old red phone box. Keep going and you’re in the Live Lounge where Elsa and Kenny were having their party. Everyone knew about it – Elsa and Kenny’s bash? yeah down there, this way… My ears are immediately familiar with the accent, although Krish tells me he doesn’t understand everything and ‘Why do they want to talk like that?’ Hmm, they just do!

It’s damn loud in the lounge too. The ceilings are low and here it’s not brick anymore. There are lots of displays and memorabilia, and it’s set up like a cabaret – lots of low tables and benches and there were none left to sit on. The place was packed. It’s actually quite amusing to go to these things. Most people are my/Elsa’s age. They look like elderly people but they’re taking in the music and it’s like someone peeled the years away. Everyone knows everyone. There’s laughing, too much alcohol, and there’s mingling and catching up. There’s an elevated area with more seating and another bar, and the toilets – I like going down there towards the toilets since there are some amazing photos of the Beatles and my favourite one, of Brian Epstein. They all look so young. I looked at one of John Lennon and was totally surprised to re-realise he was only 40 when he died. He lived a lot of life in those forty years. And there’s a lovely one of George, my (and Elsa’s) favourite Beatle. Although she, of course, knew him and has personal memories and it’s so very sad.

My goal was to watch two acts – the Hideaways, who were my favourite Liverpool band, and Beryl Marsden who never quite became famous, although you’ll find her on YouTube, and who sings the great old Cavern faves.

A favourite moment – Elsa and Freda (Kelly, the Beatles Fan Club secretary) jiving (Cavern style) at the front soon after we arrived and Judd announcing, There’s two original Cavern girls right there! And so they are, although not quite original since the club would have opened when they were only ten. Nevertheless, I’m always impressed by Elsa’s energy. I give it a good go but…

Things were running late. After one song by the Hideaways Krish said he had to leave, that he couldn’t can’t handle the crowd and the noise and the standing – I understood and was prepared for this – but the second song came on, Judd’s harmonica (they call it a gob iron in Liverpool) came out and Krish stayed till their set came to an end. They are all old men now, with much less hair, much more body fat, and their faces aren’t recognizable, but if you listen to their music, it’s like the years fall away. It’s all standard Liverpool 60s fare – old blues, soul – and they are having fun with it. Judd is centre-stage, sloppily dressed, looking messy, rotund, and yet the women still seek him out – you can see them. After Krish left, I looked around. Freda didn’t seem to know me this time and I was OK with that. I had a few words with Kenny and a few more with Elsa and I stayed to watch Beryl. Her voice is still strong and confident and she sings her songs as she has for decades – I know (I know) you don’t love me no more…. you really have to shake yourself that it’s now, 2019, Beryl is looking a bit frail, with thinner hair and that jawline is gone, but she’s still Beryl.

I told Elsa I had to leave and she was shocked I would leave without watching Kenny’s band. Oh, you HAVE to stay to watch Kenny’s band at least. So I stayed for two songs but. after I left, I felt bad for not staying even though I’d been standing for hours, and my ears were starting to ring and echo a bit too much for comfort.

Elsa watching The Kirbys, Kenny's Band — Elsa watching The Kirbys, Kenny’s Band

Krish and I had a rest and then set out for a restaurant he wanted to go to across town – 15 min walk. We had a lamb tajine which was quite lovely. The appetiser and dessert were mediocre. We almost always share a meal.

Mr Cenzone on Dale Street — Mr Cenzone on Bold Street

Lamb tajine (with dates stuffed with walnuts) at the Kasbah

Walking up to Bold Street is weird. It’s always been a nice area for eating. It’s on the way to the huge cathedral – the fifth-largest cathedral in the world and the longest. Liverpool outside the very centre and before you hit the near suburbs doesn’t seem that different, just cleaner. but the core of the city is gone. The streets are pedestrianised and, even though they’re lined with all the familiar franchise stores, they still have the same name. So you see the name of the street and there’s no recognition of what it was once. Those new streets have just appropriated the old names as if someone erased everything except the street signs. It feels odd. Bold Street is trendier and has a real road but it looks pretty much the same as it always has. There are mostly independent shops and places to eat.

A touch of Charles Rennie Mackintosh in Liverpool

Maggie May's, famous for scouse — Maggie May’s, famous for scouse. We had some there once and Krish hated it. It wasn’t such a good one!

There had been a big football match that day so the street and the side streets and cafes were packed with loud celebrating fans. They had the game on even in the Cavern – the music was punctuated with loud yells and celebration as the home team were winning. When we left the restaurant I’d meant to photograph the people having fun but the rain was steady and getting heavier. Continue reading “Liverpool, my old friend”

28th February 201928th February 2019

Neighbourhood conspiracies

Thursday, 28 February, 2019

This is a ‘colourful’ neighbourhood. There are hours of entertainment here, all free of charge and for speculation!

Curiosities are everywhere. Sometimes you have to act fast or you miss them. Take the black utility box opposite this house. Graffiti appears and disappears rapidly. A week or so a very subtle piece appeared. It was a heartbeat trace. I thought, since it was so discreet, it might last. I didn’t move fast enough to photograph it. It was gone by noon the next day.

Near Hackney Central station, there are round bollards to stop cars trying to get into a pedestrian area. Someone or more than one someones has painted them. Last week I went to look more closely.

The usual monkeys - seeing, hearing and speaking... — **The usual monkeys – seeing, hearing and speaking… (or not!)**

I believe the splash at the top was added later. (To look like bird poo?). — **I believe the splash at the top was added later. (To look like bird poo or is it the real thing?)**

Hackney has an illustrious past. I wrote a bit about Hackney Central’s history here. Despite knowing something about them now, it still surprises me to see the Hackney palm trees around the borough, even in people’s front gardens.

**Looking towards Mare Street at Hackney Town Hall**

When I first moved here, it was interesting but could be grim. Rusting hulks of cars were strewn about, under railway bridges and on side streets. These got filled with rubbish. Gang fights were common and so was murder and violence. Sometimes traffic, even pedestrian, was diverted because of a body, or a crime scene. Somewhere in the middle were the London riots – one of them not too far from our window just out of sight. Windows were smashed, cars were burned. People without a voice used their fists.

Things began to change when the Crossrail (Overground) system was opened. Suddenly, Hackney was more accessible. ‘Luxury flats’ sprang up, first in Dalston, then at our own junction. The largest council estate, Pembury, was partly torn down to create this. Rents climbed, the well-heeled moved in, and the cafes, trendy restaurants, and fancy shops started to pop up. The old Burberry factory was rebuilt into an outlet and luxurious flats, and the tourists stated to arrive as this area was transformed into an actual community of high end outlet stores. What was becoming of Hackney?

Last week I took a stroll along the Narrow Way (top of Mare Street) which is now fully pedestrianised, although far from the trendy area it aspires to be so far. I believe it will get there – after I’ve been priced out, of course.

**First a coffee in the girly Palm Vaults, No dairy milk served here. No cash allowed.**

**This new place has opened. It seems to be coffee ,cake., and maybe cocktails. Two doors from the established Palm Vauts**

**Brown Butter, also coffee and cake apparently. Opposite Palm Vaults and Palaette. Obviously no fear of competition despite being the third coffee venture in a very small radius**

In the new Dispensary Lane, created by two new builds off the Narrow Way, is Wave vegan cafe — **In the new Dispensary Lane, created by two new builds, is Wave vegan cafe**

We were very curious when this sign popped up for a new store opening. Now it's open, we see it's many packages of baked goods and meat, wrapped in plastic and awaiting its so far sparse to non-existent clientele. Bets on how long it will last? — We were very curious when this sign popped up for a new store opening. Now it’s open, we see it’s many packages of baked goods and meat, wrapped in plastic and awaiting its so far sparse to non-existent clientele. Bets on how long it will last?

The number of 'afro hair' specialist suppliers, hairdressers and barbers remains the same. They're everywhere and keep long hours — **While everything changes around it, the large number of ‘afro hair’ specialist suppliers, hairdressers and barbers remains the same. They’re everywhere and keep long hours**

While crime has definitely subsided, there are still reminders. We see arrests from time to time, usually peaceful and usually involving Caribbean youth. The other day, on my way home from shopping, the road in front of the house was cordoned off. There were a dozen to twenty blue-gloved police officers, at least two multi-person ambulance response teams, and a few fire trucks with many firefighters. The only sign of any disturbance was a handcuffed male being lead to a police car. Was he holding hostages? We thought it might be a grow op but why the ambulances on standby? So the other thought was that it’s a meth lab, with fear of explosion – but perhaps not since no one was being evacuated. Fun.

There are also two conspiracy theories coming from not too far away. A nearby restaurant that has crowds of people, limousines parked outside or picking up packages, the same bicycles buzzing back and forth. At first, I countered with the fact the food might be magnificent, until I tasted it and it was pretty awful. And another restaurant just two doors from the first that serves food intermittently, is closed at last half the time, and which a motorcycle regularly lingers outside for someone to let them in, before taking off with apparently no food, yet comes back as if waiting for more. In between the two, deliveries are made to the pavement. Big boxes of something, whole skids of boxes. People show up, the labels are removed and a van picks them up again. Who knows! You can decide for yourself what might be going on and whether it’s innocent or not.

Mystery solved – grow op it was!

25th February 201928th February 2019

Plus ça change…Tinnitus, Spring, Pottery

Tuesday, 26 February, 2019

Mired in the blahs a bit. The wedding was a nice little oasis of colour and new stuff to do but, for the most part, February has been spent right here at home or around the neighbourhood. And it’s not as if there’s nothing going on here. It’s all in my head!

My head being a bit full of tinnitus.

If you think tinnitus is just an annoying, somewhere-in-there, ringing in your ear, you’d be only partly right. Mine is ‘recurring.’ I can go weeks, months, even years without it – or at least there’s ‘acceptable’ level noise in my ears all the time but then every now and again it gets serious. It spikes and I can’t cope. This isn’t ‘carry on regardless’ any more. It leaves me incapable of doing even the ordinary things. I’m hypersensitive to everyday noises and instinctively avoid them. Running taps, the shower, the sound of footsteps, the wind blowing leaves, traffic driving by, someone unwrapping or rustling paper… This is called hyperacusis.

My personal kind of spike is this – Sometimes there are baby crickets making some noise occasionally, sometimes there are bigger crickets being a bit more insistent, and sometimes there’s a whole meadow full of really huge crickets in full voice for hours on end, if you’re lucky with intermittent breaks. Has anyone ever made a really loud noise too close to your ear? Yelled? Blown a whistle? If so, did you pull away immediately to avoid the noise? Imagine if you couldn’t.

One more thing about tinnitus – it isn’t actually in your ear, although it can certainly drown out other noises or upset your balance (quite a bit in my case) but it’s coming from your brain. Your brain is filling in gaps of sound or frequency with something recognisable. Sort of like phantom limb syndrome….

So back to Hackney and getting out when balance is on my side. It’s unseasonably warm. It’s T-shirt weather for some. My phone weather tells me it’s 19C. And it’s still February.

**Over the course of the day, so any variations in the sky. February.**

Continue reading “Plus ça change…Tinnitus, Spring, Pottery”