First Sunday of Lent

Well, sleeping 12 hours last night seemed to bring victory over the bug I am fighting.  My energy level was still off today and by evening, the throat is starting to threaten me again—but I am determined to win.  I refuse to be sick for the Barcelona trip on Thursday.

Spring is definitely making overtures.  Although the crocus may be easily fooled by a few days of warm weather,  there is plenty of evidence that other buds are busting out. This bulging bud is on my neighbor’s fence.  Can’t wait to see what the vine turns out to be.

This is some kind of mystery tree in the garden where I do laundry in the basement.

Upclose of the mystery buds

Here, at the bus stop are irrefutable early flowers of a fruit tree.  This all makes me very happy.

Yes, that is blue sky peeking through the sticks and flowers.

So, ever the optimist, I have asked Patty to bring some of my winter clothes back to California with her after we leave Barcelona and she completes her business in London. I’m looking for less to lug around on the train when I leave London for Paris and Frankfurt end of April.

Took a walk through Havistock Hill and Belsize Park today, then boarded the bus to Finchley where I had noticed a Waitrose the other day.  Students living in Kensington rave about Waitrose so I wanted to check it out.  It is an amazing grocery store that makes my upscale Mark and Spence look ho-hum.  Then, since I was so close to Jubilee line, I took the tube to Tate Modern. 

Here is some graffiti for Nancy that I spotted on a bridge between the station and the Tate.

Caption to the right of the jester:  "I know that you know that nobody knows."

Note to self: don’t go to the Tate on a sunny London Sunday when ½ the city is there.  Too crowded for me, and I was not feeling it. Although this "Michaelangelo with clothes" was amusing.

 I found myself constantly drawn to the windows looking out over the Thymes.   

So I left, and from Southwark took a different route home.

It is always good to return to Hampstead where I prowled around Waterstone’s bookstore and found two novels.

Hampstead High Street near Pilgrim Lane

I love the signs the Brits put up.

And, this is one of the things I see all around London that make me wish I had my pruning shears:

This climbing rose was not properly pruned and will lose some of its glory due to the bad butchering.  For a culture that is known for its gardening, what are they thinking?  I can't tell you how often I see these scraggly roses; such carelessly tended and pitiful plants.  Very sad.

After a supper of salmon and greens, I plan a hot soak, a pot of tea and a long read.

It is with a twinge of envy that tonight  I will miss the annual Stocker’s academy award party: Barbara always makes it memorable with fun games, prizes and interesting discussions on the movies.  I miss the girly girl talk. Thinking of y’all.  And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson (I trust you have returned from Prescott): give Cynda, Sharon, Barbara, et al. my hugs.

Night all.