My sad obsessive internet stalker. An open letter.

Hi there,

I know who you are, I know where you are, I know what computer you are using, I know your IP address, I know who is your internet provider, I know how many times you monitor my blog, I know what time you monitor my blog, I know what you read. I know how many hundreds of times you have monitored my blog over the past 2 years.

Why do you bother?

As you appear to be monitoring me during work hours why don't you spend that time doing the job you are paid to do.  There is nothing for you here.

Alternatively you could meet me for a coffee and explain your motives. I'm moving shortly but will still be local so we could meet in Tavistock Square.

Let me know.

Boris Johnson prorogues Thomas Cook.

It can be revealed that the British Prime Minister has today prorogued the holiday company in order to strand 150,000 remain voters in Europe prior to a further referendum on Brexit.

A Downing Street spokesperson stated that: If they love Europe so much they can bloody well stay there with their calamaris and sangria.

Led Zeppelin fan kills May Queen in hunting accident.

A 67 year old Led Zeppelin fan Jan Nieupjur accidentally shot and killed the May Queen while out hunting  in Surrey.

He later told the police that he had heard a bustle in the hedgerow and, alarmed, he had shot instinctively. forgetting that it was probably just a spring clean for the May Queen. He added that there were two paths he could have gone by but it was now too late to change the road he was on.

A police spokesman stated that: Ooh it makes me wonder'.

The victim in happier times.

Unoccupied Social housing in Notting Hill/Ladbroke Grove.

This part of West London has a serious housing problem. There is not, according to RBKC housing department, enough social housing to meet the needs of the massive waiting list.

Why is it then that there are many, many empty, untennanted properties in the area?

I've noticed a lot of long term empty homes in the neighbourhood and assumed that they were privately owned, but having checked out the social housing database I find that a large number of the places are Council or Housing Association owned.  During a short walk down one road in W11 I identified 3 definitely empty Council owned flats flats. Spotting the empty basements is simple, the weed covered entrances are a giveaway. I have no idea how many of the upper flats are empty.

I would be very interested to know the actual number of unlet Council and Housing Association flats here. It looks like RBKC don't really want to house the people on the waiting list after all.  I wonder why?

Below are photographs of some of the properties I identified:

Three bedroom flat in Westbourne Park Road. Empty for 3 years. Managed by Notting Hill Housing.

 

Basement flat, obviously unoccupied. The path is covered in untrodden weeds.                                    

Another basement flat with overgrown path and doorway.

I'll be adding to this list in due course and speaking to RBKC about the matter.

If you want to check your street the database is HERE

Tigers eye.

Whilst enjoying a lazy al fresco jalfrezi
In the shade of the old Taj Mahal
my tiger Domingo leant out of a window
and dropped his glass eye in the daal
I could not see the reasoning behind this additional seasoning
perhaps it was a practical joke
but blind Gunga Dan scooped it up in his naan
it is a miracle that he didn't choke.

We won't labour upon it in order to fit in a sonnet
but it all became clear late that night
as he checked out his poo (as some people do)
it winked back and he near died of fright
for in his confusion at this optical illusion
he thought he'd passed Blake's tiger tiger burning bright.

Grenfell Street unveiled

https://www.mylondon.news/news/first-grenfell-street-sign-been-16860819

Books at the end of the road

I'm starting to dismantle this blog. A book will be published this autumn containing some of it plus other stuff. Another book is planned for the spring.

It has all become unweildy and infathomable and other tales cannot be told here. I'll post details of the books in due course.

Carnival souvenir.

Carnival 2019

A beautiful dawn.

6.00 am. The streets are quiet save the guys setting up sound systems and stalls and the the high vizzed police already patrolling the streets. There seems to be more of them than previous years but maybe that is my imagination.

 

Screening arches

 

Considerate grafitti. 

Guardians of the urinal.

Chillin'

Mangrove steel band rehearsal All Saints Road. Carnival 2019

Setting up for tomorrow night in All Saints Road. For me and many others the best part of carnival. A pre-party party.

Defying medical science with a trombone.

Ten years ago, when I first became ill with lung disease, I lay on a hospital bed irrigated and oxidised by tubes, fussy nurses drawing blood and being fed miserable things.
A doctor sat, tears in his eyes, at the foot of the bed and informed me that I would never play the trombone again.

I am not one to take this kind of thing lying down and within weeks I started the process of proving him wrong and now, ten years later I am able to share this photograph with you:


I am about to go on stage to perform John Cage's 4'33.




How wrong was that doctor.

The Bishop admits to his domestic habits.

Once the subject of egg quality had been exhausted.

Bishop: I enjoy nothing more of an evening than mulling over my sermons whilst washing the dishes but often find that the maid has beaten me to it.

William Spooner: Your wishes dashed so to speak.

Bishop: I often imagine that one day there will be a machine invented for wish dashing. One would just fill it up then sit back in dissapointment. Of course I would still have the fine crystal and Wedgewood.

Spooner: Ah yes, Wedgewood, there are no two ways about that.

With apologies to Gerald Du Maurier.

Graveside phantosmia

 

Imagined scents, 
spring magnolia walks
missed birthdays
vanilla
wet dog after rainy walks
pine needles and orange of lost christmasses
bicycle oil
antiseptic cream
playdo, paint and glue
summer gardens
caged tigers
autumn woods

that a child, dancing, scattering confetti on her mothers grave
makes real.