a personal statement
This is what happens to us in the UK after a year or more of lockdown.
But if that is too extreme for you, how about these?
I’m only allowing myself one package for this spring (that’s the plan…) so I couldn’t take any risks on sweet roll innovations. So I went with what can’t fail—sultanas, raisins, lemon and orange peel. Oh my!
At about the one-week mark after our move from Kent to Bermondsey in South London we took a walk to Burgess Park. As we had been looking at houses before and after Covid-19 lockdown one of the items on our wish list was to be near a park. Burgess Park seemed to be one that was nearby when we crept, neighbourhood by neighbourhood, closer to Central London. At 140 acres it is a big park and was created from what were originally streets and houses, some bombed out in World War II, others just razed. It also incorporates part of the Grand Surrey Canal, closed in 1970 and filled in.
Because of its history there are still some roads with homes, schools, churches and a mosque that cut into its footprint. We looked at one house on Cobourg Road that had a tiny backyard but was surrounded by the park. However, standing on the sidewalk in front of the house with all the people going to and from the park proper it oddly felt like a prop house on a movie lot. With all the nature and wildlife nearby there was little privacy.
As I exited the park I saw this amusing attempt to bring the park’s inhabitants and visitors together.
Just joined the Tate Museum and enjoying the perks. Lunch in the members room of the Blavatnik building, which I wasn’t even aware was added in 2916
I’ve seen the Takis exhibit so far and now on to the Olafur Eliasson gallery. Love a day at a museum.
Here’s a favorite from the Takis show. The projecting objects are held in place by magnets and lighting creates the shadows.
Our first National Trust excursion, 30 minutes from home, to the home of authors Henry James and E.F. Benson. Lamb House sits at the top of a hill reached by rounded-cobblestone streets.
Around the corner on West Street the house and its garden wall square the corner with views down to St. Mary’s church.
Inside the house has little of James’ original belongings, but is beautiful with wood panelled walls and plank floors.
But the gardens are the real stars of the property.
After our visit and a very good early dinner at Simply Italian back home to Summer Hill Oast–and I drove!
I headed into London today for my interview to get a National Insurance number (NiNo) so that I can work and pay taxes. The appointment was for 8:35 so I got the 6:53 train out of Staplehurst. I had tried to change the appointment, which we made from New York, but there was nothing until May 5 in Canterbury and nothing available at the London office at all!
Actually I had jumped on train before the 6:53 thinking I was going to miss it, but the train was going to Charing Cross instead of Cannon Street. I changed at Tonbridge for the correct train, but still had not purchased a ticket. No conductor came by to purchase a ticket on the train so I was sure I would be paying some penalty for not having a ticket in advance. In the end I just went to the Excess Fare counter and paid the same price. Now I know what that window is for.
I got to the Job Centre 15 minutes early to find a small group of people waiting to get in the office which only opened at 8:35. When we were let in it was the epitome of organization—take this card to the first floor and wait for them to call your number. Upstairs someone else directed me to the seats for waiting to be called (not, as I learned later the first set of seats that were for waiting to get back your ID after your interview papers had been checked).
After the interview and waiting to be checked out—only about 30 minutes—I left to find some coffee and breakfast. I was heading south of the Thames to perhaps introduce myself to a recruiter I had been speaking to from New York; if he had time. Over a latte at Costa (the un-Starbucks of the UK) I spoke to the recruiter and made an appointment for the following week because his morning was full.
I was headed back to London Bridge for my return train and thought I would wander through Borough Market for a little while. Borough Market is an open-air market under the train bridges that collect to form the London Bridge train station before the trains disappear under the Thames.
It seemed like a good idea to pick up some of the delicious looking bread, cheese, fruit and other goodies on display. Buying strawberries I handed a £10 note to the vendor, who said, “Oy that’s no good. The 5s and 10s are plastic now.” Apparently the money we had from earlier visits was now no longer in circulation. “You have to take that to a bank for them to turn it in.”
The £20 note I had was still good so I put away the 4 or 5 old £10 notes I had and intended to stop at a bank on the way to the train. I bought cheese from a stall that was giving a tasters sampling to six of us standing at the Sussex cheese makers (Alsop and Walker), and a round rye loaf.
A block away from Borough Market I saw a Barclays Bank. I have a credit card with Barclays and I work for Barclays so I thought I’d give it a try to turn in those old notes. Inside, a Barclays-blue clad receiver listened to my request and said I would need to have a current account (i.e. checking) to be able to change the old notes.
I said I actually needed to open a current account now that I was in England, so could I do that now?
“You need to make an appointment in a branch to do that,” I was told. Of course I do.