4:30 P.M. Is a Bit Early

On our walks through the city, I'm usually the one who laments that we don't have space for a great curbside find, but today it was Bob's turn to sigh:

We think this building houses a recording studio or rehearsal space, and it seems that they no longer want their organ. In spite of leaving his treasure behind, I think Bob would agree that it was a great day for a walk up to Clissold Park.
The cool wind that's sprung up recently took a break today and the park was lovely in the autumn sun. Our only reminder that winter's coming was our peek at the Clissold Park sign, which lists the park's closing hours (tied to the timing of dusk)--currently 7:00 P.M., but in only a month, it'll be back to the 4:30 P.M. it was when we arrived in London in December!

Watch Where You Step

Today was a bit of a lazy Saturday, and we decided to walk along the rather idyllic New River path on our way to nowhere in particular. Along the way, Bob suddenly stopped, grabbed my arm, and looked down at his feet. This is what we saw:

The little guy was a bit stunned, so Bob picked him up and set him down on the nearby grass, where we hope he soon regained his jump! Leaving the path, we zigzagged across the neighbourhood, and I noticed this sign delivering its ominous message rather matter-of-factly, as if it were saying, "Slow: children at play."
There was indeed glass up there, in the form of broken bottles sticking up along the top border of the wall. Not the loveliest form of home security, but probably reasonably effective. We spotted this slightly less cohesive message on this ad for a local paper:
That's some crackdown!

Divisadero

Rainy, cold, and dreary: the perfect day for curling up with some tea and a novel: Michael Ondaatje is one of my favourite writers and I've been waiting for five months (since it was published in Canada) for this book to come out in the UK, which it finally did last week. On a whim, I checked the six London library systems to which I belong, doubting that any of them would have the book yet, but I was very happy to find that Islington library had exactly one copy in its system, currently on the shelf, at a branch very close to home! After I got over being disappointed that they had only ordered one copy, I rushed down to the branch to get the book. With such high expectations, the likelihood of disappointment looms, but one benefit of being in London is that I've managed to escape the onslaught of reviews and plot giveaways that seem to accompany an Ondaatje publication in Canada. And if I do end up being disappointed (as I was with 2002's Anil's Ghost), I can always get a copy of In the Skin of a Lion from the library and reread that--it's still one of my favourite novels--beautifully written, with evocative situations and wonderfully flawed characters seeking redemption and belonging as they move through the city of Toronto like it's never been seen in literature--ah, but where was I? Oh, yes, Divisadero . . .

Big Brava Watchin U

Bob and I strolled along this nondescript street today:

Vyner Street may not have the most inviting-looking buildings,
and this slang-filled sign outside a taxi company reminds passers-by that cameras patrol the street,
but the street contains quite a few interesting galleries, and their close proximity to one another means that a visit here is bound to be a convenient, interesting dip into some current exhibits. Our first stop was not our style at all, but the second gallery had my favourite show of the day. Hat Stand was playful, I liked Mini Cab Office and Artist in Studio,
and Master Baker was the piece that made me smile the most. The next show we wandered through was a bit underwhelming (although one video did make me laugh and cringe at the same time as I watched a child mix cola and yogourt into the most disgusting slurry and declare it delicious), and the last gallery we stopped in at contained some pleasing geometric sculptures that were counterbalanced with giant jugs of water--I resisted the temptation to see what would happen if I lifted the jugs off the sculptures! From Vyner Street, we walked for a bit, passing this restaurant that didn't seem to be delivering what its name was promising: What's this amongst the bicycles? It's a chicken!
This will make more sense when I tell you where we had walked over to:
Birds were the first residents we encountered at the farm,
including geese (from left to right: Gregory, Florence, and Abigail--Gregory was born on the farm and is its oldest resident, at 23 years old)
and this especially cute fluffy-footed white chicken.
Along with some nearby sheep and cows, these enormous pigs enjoyed the sunshine with their avian friends.
Of course, not all the animals at the farm are big!
This doorway is near the entrance to the farm, and the small animal door at the bottom made me laugh--I don't know what animal uses that door, but whatever it is, it must be one tough Hackney resident!

Russets

This gate is quite great; I especially like the variety of scenes represented and the shifting scales of the designs.

Another recent great find comes courtesy of our local greengrocers (they of the Green Gages):
I spotted these Russet apples there a few days ago, and although I had no idea what they'd be like (Russet? Isn't that a type of potato?), I bought one to use in a salad that night. I was the tiniest bit disappointed when I began to peel it, since I was hoping from the appearance of the skin that this "apple" might be more like an apple-pear or an Asian apple, but from the first cut, I could tell the flesh was not of that consistency. Thankfully, my letdown was extremely shortlived, as the apple turned out to be extremely flavourful, with a pleasing texture (not really juicy, but firm and crunchy--perfect for a salad), aromatic flavour, and just the right amount of tartness to spark its considerable sweetness to life. When I looked up the Russet, I learned that it's typically described as dry, nutty, and balanced in flavour, with the name referring to the sandpapery appearance/ texture of its skin. I don't think Russets are widely grown in the province of British Columbia or Washington state (the two places where most apples sold in Vancouver come from), and I like the fact that their dull, speckled namesake skin doesn't fit the supermodel mold of the red, green, and streaked varieties that seem to take the apple spotlight this time of year. As with the Green Gages (which I got more of today, along with a bagful of Russets), I'll enjoy these apples while the greengrocer stocks them!

Enter Your PIN Now

I must have passed this artwork many, many times on the bus before finally noticing it--in my defence, that particular bus is often beyond overcrowded and I usually can't see anything at this point on the route!

A life-size rendition of a cashpoint emitting much more than £20 notes and a receipt, this Banksy work occupies a bricked-shut window in an otherwise unassuming row of shops. At first glance, and especially on a grey day from a crowded bus, the cashpoint looks quite real, but of course the rest of the image then startles. Just be on your toes the next time you get money out from a machine!

Secret of the Game

Usually I'm the one who likes things nice and organised, but when it comes to Scrabble, Bob likes a tidy board--so much so that he spends part of each game making sure that the tiles are in their exact spots, like a wooden version of colouring within the lines.

He'll sometimes take to this tidying up in the middle of my turn--which can be a bit distracting as I'm searching the board for a place to put my tiles! In case you're wondering, he won. Twice: the first time by a solid sixty points and the second time by a more suspenseful two points. Hmmm . . . maybe I should take to tidying tiles?

Hidden and Unfamiliar

It's football season again, and although that means many pubs are full of fans wearing jerseys, drinking beer, and watching tellies, some pubs don't want any of this (my favourite part of this sign is the tiny bit in the old-timey font that proclaims, "Since 1892"):

I had no idea before we lived here, but apparently it's common for pubs (especially those near the stadiums) to be affiliated with the home teams, so that if Arsenal is playing a home game, you don't go into a certain pub unless you're wearing Arsenal colours (red and white). Other pubs near the stadium may then be known as places where "away-fans" can watch the game, and those pubs will be full of the opposing team's colours on game day. Football is serious business over here, in more ways than one! Another sign that caught my interest today was this one:
I've actually been seeing this one all over town recently and keep forgetting to snap a photo--what could it mean? For some reason, I always think of the queen when I see it; the queen with a hubcap covering her face, but the queen nonetheless. Any ideas? After taking photos of signs and images on the street, we wandered into The Photographers' Gallery to take in their latest pair of exhibits. As usual, one exhibit is showing in the main gallery space, while the other adorns the walls of the gallery's tempting café.
The main gallery exhibit, Taryn Simon's An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar, was fascinating and disturbing--well worth a visit, either in-person, or online: click on "photographs" on this page to see a small selection of the photos and their informative captions.

Sarah Sze

Sometimes a walk around London is right out of a scene in Shaun of the Dead (which we haven't seen yet, but is on our list, especially since we found out it's set in Crouch End, a nice neighbourhood a bit north of us): have zombies taken over the city, leaving mayhem and destruction in their path, or are these just the usual London standards of ramshackle urban existence? Sometimes it's incredibly difficult to tell. I'm 99% sure today was an example of zombie-free London, although this phone box and this building
do leave a 1% possibility of other, zombie-related causes. We actually pass by this fenced-off building quite regularly, as it's on one of our frequent bus routes; the extent of the damage is only visible from the top level of a double-decker bus, and if I forget where this building is along the route, it can be a very surprising sight amongst the other, um, less burned-out buildings on the street! (I was going to post the photo and say that Bob and I bought a fixer-upper London flat for the amazing bargain of £100,000, but figured that no one would believe that, except maybe for Londoners, who might think it would be worth it, depending on the location and size of the garden. Sad, but true!) As we continued along our way today, I noticed this unusual warehouse door:
Two keyed locks, a peephole, a spinning wheel, a combination lock, and engraving that proclaims, "Milners' patent improved fire-resisting & strong holdfast safe," this door combined real security with what I assume (?) is ornamental security to leave one question in my mind: just what is behind this door? Not far away, we got to see the fascinating sights behind another door, at Victoria Miro gallery, where the last day of the Sarah Sze exhibit had attracted substantial crowds. Sze received a 2003 MacArthur "genius" fellowship, so nicknamed because the US$500,000 grant is given to roughly thirty American citizens or residents each year, for their "originality, insight, and potential." Recipients come from all disciplines, and unlike most fellowships, the money is given without restriction. The nomination and shortlisting processes are anonymous, and final decisions are made by the foundation committee; incredibly, recipients usually aren't aware they're being considered until they get that $500,000 phone call. I didn't know this when I put Sze's show on my list of things to see, but after scrutinising the many layers of her intricate sculptures while crouching on the gallery floor (as were most people--stretch your muscles before you see a Sze show), I have to say that she's definitely on my list of artists to check out anytime I hear of an exhibit. Highly, highly recommended. Much of my favourite art uses everyday objects to create spectacular pieces, and Sze definitely does this, assembling often minuscule pieces into gargantuan sculptures that come alive with light, movement, and an imaginative world of their own. The ground floor of the gallery contained a few new pieces, dramatically spotlit in the dark room,

while the first floor's older pieces were brightly lit
and arranged in such a way that the largest (in diameter) piece was the first one you saw when you entered the space:


I'll never look at yarn the same way again.
I almost didn't know where to go next, and ended up looking at each piece several times, seeing something different each time around.

This piece was hidden around a corner, and as I followed the yarn to the window, I felt like I was following a trail of crumbs in the forest . . .
You really had to watch where you stepped in the gallery, since tiny fragments of various sculptures wandered out from the main sculpture:

I half-expected all the tiny pieces to start marching around the room, since they seemed to indicate movement even where there wasn't any,

and these rays of yarn seemed like they should emit music when strummed.
After finally leaving the Sze exhibit, we had a peek at the gallery next door, where we were again thrown into a consideration of the tiny, this time the wonder of snowflakes! Heading a little further from home, we went to Canary Wharf to check out their free jazz festival. We have yet to warm to Canary Wharf, which feels more like a sterile jumble of office buildings
than a neighbourhood for strolling and exploring, but Jubilee Park (the site of the jazz fest) is a lovely oasis of parkland amongst the glass towers.
The trees didn't feel like London trees, and we felt more like we were in downtown Seattle than London!
Although the set we caught wasn't exactly our style, it still made for a nice bit of picnicking on another blissfully summery day in the city (yes, they're still hanging on).