ROADS AND PARKS

Autumn Leaves Part 2

I am pleased to report that the pedestrian footpath has now largely been cleared of autumn leaves. The leaves and leaf-mould have been shovelled into large white plastic sacks that have been sitting on the grass for the past week (so that will be good for the grass!) and the path is nearly clear. Jolly good.

Meanwhile, on the main section of the Green, a large area is fenced off by contractors who are apparently installing gym equipment. This involves digging up grass, levelling the surface, installing kerbstones and presumably will involve putting some sort of surface down, though they haven't got that far yet, despite being there for three weeks. A significant area of grass will be lost. When I first saw this, I asked the councillors what was going on, and after they explained, I was told that there had been consultation; well, I wasn't consulted, and nor were my neighbours; I imagine they only consulted people in flats adjoining that section of the Green, as the people who would be affected by the works, and whose view would be altered. Not really keeping the community informed, but never mind. Apparently Westminster have been given money for this purpose. Now, I'm sure this is a good thing, or would be if people know that the equipment is there, though we already have the equipment for a "fitness trail" around the Green, which gets little use. It will be interesting to see how much use this new equipment will get. The thing is, though, that local young people do actually use the grass to take exercise, playing football. Westminster Parks Department cannot recognise that fact, though, because they forbid ball games on the Green, and so they pretend that installing this equipment will improve people's fitness levels, when in fact it may inhibit young people from taking the exercise that they already do.

The Parks Department's self-defeating regulations are a particular bugbear of mine. Why ban football, exactly? On a large stretch of grass ball games can be accommodated alongside other activity. There are no flower beds to destroy. Similarly, cycling is theoretically banned on the Green, but Westminster allowed the creation of the cycle path through the canalside section (with mayoral money) some ten years ago, while the path down towards Royal Oak is regularly used by cyclists (not just me) and is wide enough to allow that without any threat to pedestrians. In fact, the local cycle training for children (which may perhaps get a little funding from WCC) takes place on the paths of the Green. It seems futile to put up notices prohibiting harmless (indeed beneficial) activities, particularly when you have no intention of enforcing those prohibitions.


Conservation

The conservators have just about finished work on cleaning the upper register of the nave ceiling, and very splendid it looks. That's forty-eight saints, with twenty-four more to go in the lower register. At the same time, obviously, the background panels (with a pleasing mauve among the most prominent colours) and the elaborately patterned ribs are also being cleaned. One or two of the saints have been badly damaged by past scrubbing, and there are tricky decisions about what detail to put back in, but our conservators (and conservation architects) are very judicious. It is noticeable that several of the saints seen in profile have large noses; are we dealing with a Victorian nose fetishist?

As soon as we put in our new uplighters five years or so ago, which enabled the nave ceiling to be seen reasonably well for the first time in decades, people remarked on what looked like painted flames. I would say, "The ceiling's depicting heaven, with all the saints," and after a pause someone would ask, "Why are there flames?" I have always tried to talk about it being rays of light, rather than flames, but people always sound unconvinced. I hope that when we have the chancel ceiling visible as well (just lighting revealed nothing of that) then the continuation of the motif there may make it more intelligible as the divine light. Because in the chancel the rays of light emerge from the centre into a roughly semi-circular ceiling the image of a sunburst makes sense, but in the nave, the rays emerge from either side of the ridge, which doesn't immediately suggest the sun. 


Heavy Traffic

I realise that it annoys motorists when cyclists skirt round puddles, but the problem is that you never know how deep a puddle may be, or how sharp the edge of the concealed pothole may be. When the snow was melting this was a particular issue on the Harrow Road, as you couldn't be sure how much new damage had been made by the ice. Still, Kilburn Park Road is much the worst road surface in the neighbourhood, which may be because it comes under Brent rather than Westminster (the boundary runs up the middle), but also because it has constant buses and a regular flow of cement lorries and concrete mixers, not least because of the redevelopment of the South Kilburn Estate. It's all very well applauding the amount of building going on in London, but the heavy vehicles that building works require take a real toll on the local roads. Our little building site actually generates very little, as the new build element is tiny, but all these new blocks of flats and offices contain vast amounts of steel and concrete which have to be shipped around on large, heavy vehicles, destroying the road surface. Remember, cyclists are actually killed by potholes!

THE TWO-FOLD PATH

Autumn Leaves

When our contractors started work on site, there was a lot of concern from parents about traffic and congestion on the paths at 8.50 and 3.30, because the site compound was taking away one path, and the canalside path has parallel cycling and walking sections. So, the contractors bought warning signs for cyclists and put them up, and undertook to make sure that the cycle path was clear of rubbish, so that cyclists could always use its full width and didn’t have to stray onto the pedestrian section. This has worked very well. They have kept the cycle path absolutely clean where it runs alongside the site compound. Westminster Parks Department on the other hand have not done the same. A couple of council workmen were beginning to clear the piles of autumn leaves last week, and I heard one complain that the leaves were very heavy. Well, that’s the consequence of leaving them for four or five months to absorb large quantities of rain and snow. In my garden I can claim that they will rot down and put valuable organic matter into the soil (I know, it doesn’t actually happen that quickly) but that benefit is not available on a tarmac path. I expect that it was cost-cutting that meant that the autumn leaves were left until the spring, but the drawback with that is that the gang clearing them last week didn’t finish the job (presumably because it was hard work). So there are still sections where cyclists have to come wide. The other problem that drives cyclists onto the pedestrian path, brambles and other branches growing through the fence from the towpath, is rarely addressed either.   

An Odd Vehicle

Seen parked on the pavement outside the West London Buddhist Centre’s palatial premises in Porchester Road: a mobility scooter, with a pretend registration plate bearing the letters “VEGAN”. I expect they extrapolate their faith in veganism from Buddhism, because that is quite a common (western) connection to make. I would have supposed that the Buddha’s way of moderation implied something a bit different, but that’s only an observation.

I remember when we took a group of Helen’s sixth-formers to Nepal (eighteen years ago) and were to stay in a Tibetan refugee school, we assiduously warned the girls to expect the food to be vegetarian, since our hosts were Tibetan Buddhists. In fact (rather unattractive) meat featured regularly in the diet. The fact is that people living in harsh conditions tend to eat what is available and safe. Later on during that trip we stayed at a hotel in the Terai, and I didn’t go out with the group one afternoon, and so I was the only one there to see the kitchen staff dragging our dinner round to the back of the building to butcher it. I thought it best not to tell the girls.

Not So Angry

Angry Woman with Dog appeared at church on Sunday (obviously after Mass had finished) but she was cleaner than usual, and didn’t have the dog in tow. Nor was she angry. She was still looking for money, but was in a better state. Apparently her housing providers have moved her out into a flat in Tower Hamlets, but this is seemingly only temporary while they do the repairs necessary to her flat here. She had photos of a flat that I wouldn’t have believed was hers, and seemed proud of it. In truth, it would be better for her to move out of this area permanently, as she has so many feuds locally that having her as a neighbour will never be enjoyable, and people will always be trying to sell her drugs. She also seems to be engaging with some of the support agencies, which I have never known her do before. That is all good news. She apparently still has the dog, as there were photos, and she is still besotted with it. She says she wants me to write a letter to say she shouldn’t come back here, as apparently her excellent GP is doing; I would be delighted to do so.

Oy! No, Under Armour!

Is there a nastier home kit in the Premier League than Southampton’s this season? Seeing it in close-up in the post-match interview last Saturday I was struck by how misguided it all is. They traditionally wear stripes; red with a broad white panel is not the same, and this panel is much too broad. The shirt is effectively white in front, and red at the back and sides (I don’t like the current fad for striped shirts to have solid-colour backs, so West Brom appear to be in navy blue shirts when seen from behind; it’s not the only way to make numbers stand out, and is visually confusing). But it’s not just that white shirtfront, it’s the collar, or rather the neckline, because there is no collar. The white panel ends in a V-neck, which “reveals” a red section, as though of an undershirt, but the white panel doesn’t go all the way to the shoulders, but stops at collar-bone level, so there are red “epaulettes” connecting sleeves and sides; that red section is then edged with a white “collar”, which of course abuts the red “undershirt”. It takes a long time to describe because it is very fussy, a series of misguided solutions to design issues that should never have arisen. I admit the shirt manufacturer’s logo stands out nicely, though; perhaps that is the point.  

WINTER SPORTS

Public Sessions

On Friday I conducted a confirmation preparation session in Costa Coffee, which seems rather trendy. It was not solely done with safeguarding in mind, but that was a major factor. It's really not sensible to have one-to-one sessions in an otherwise empty house, even with young adults (as in this case). We have to proceed with care, so a public venue was a good idea. I remember when I was a Curate, the Archdeacon of Exeter telling us in his Visitation Charge that we should be careful to keep a coffee table between us and anyone we were counselling,(he meant adults of the opposite gender in those days) so being careful about these things is not new. It's just a good thing that today's young people are a great deal more relaxed about speaking of matters of faith in public than I would have been.


In The Snow

We had two days of closed schools, and then on Saturday the snow was melting. It's nice and quiet for me when the Primary School next door is closed, but the trouble was that with no traffic the road was completely snowed over; a delivery driver battled through and so I had to take a package in for the school, but that was all. The result was that I had to wheel my bike through the snow before I could start cycling. The roads on the estate were never gritted, but apart from Rowington Close, there was enough traffic just to keep them, passable. The Harrow Road, meanwhile, was absolutely fine, having been repeatedly gritted. It was pretty cold and uncomfortable for cycling, but I got around safely. The main problem was having to take longer routes, because the two normal routes off the estate are on paths through the park, and I knew from experience that these would never be cleared of snow. The last time we had snow it remained safer to walk on the grass than the paths for several days after the last snowfall because the Parks Department didn't touch them. I'm not sure what Westminster's park keepers do when it snows, but they certainly don't clear paths, which might not matter if the parks were only places of casual resort, but does matter when they contain important thoroughfares, as here. In striking contrast are the Westminster street-sweepers, employed by Veolia, who were issued with grit in their little carts and were out in the snow gritting pavements. Well done!

By Sunday afternoon you would hardly know there had been any snow. I went for a ride and found I was able to try really hard; I hadn't really worked out that I was being inhibited by the cold for the last couple of weeks, but that was how it had been. I saw a quote from Greg Van Avermaet (pro cyclist) after Saturday's Strade Bianche race in Tuscany (which was cold and very muddy) in which he said that his body hadn't allowed him to dig deep. Not a remotely similar case, but I understand what he meant.


Heating

Bizarrely, someone has been turning the radiators off in St Peter's Church. I came in to say Mass last Tuesday, and found the place cold, radiators off. I cursed and turned them all on again. Then it was the same for the Women's World Day of Prayer on Friday, according to my (female) churchwarden. This evening I am leading Stations of the Cross, so I just went down to check, and it had happened again. This is very odd, and more than a bit frustrating, as we have only just got working radiators after years of them noisily blowing out cold air. Our landlords, Genesis Housing, announced that they were renewing the boilers in the block and as a consequence would be able to send out accurate heating bills; we responded that we were disinclined to pay heating bills until we had radiators that actually produced heat. There then followed many months of nothing much happening, while various contractors and surveyors came in, looked, sucked their teeth and went away again. Then, finally, we suddenly got a result. An engineer came and changed all our radiators, so all of a sudden we had warmth. The old radiators dated from the mid 1970s, so it was hardly surprising that they weren't working well, but it was handy to have said goodbye to them at just the right time.   


TV Drama

I've started watching "Call The Midwife" again, which Helen and I used to watch together. It often makes me cry, but last night's was really difficult as they killed off the Curate's wife. I just bawled and bawled. You think you're okay, and then something comes along and opens the wound again.     

FRAGILITY

Fragile

I am reminded of how fragile everything really is. Just now in our intercessions we are praying for two young men who have been stabbed. One, the nephew of a congregation member, was stabbed in the street in broad daylight in Luton, where his family had moved, ironically in order to get him away from all the nonsense that confronts teenage boys in London. It seems to have been nothing to do with gangs, but a vengeful ex-boyfriend of the classmate he happened to be walking along the street with. Fortunately he is recovering. Not so fortunate was the son of someone who works at one of our schools, who was killed in Earls Court on Sunday morning, the victim of what the Standard says was a fight between gangs who were attending two nearby parties. If that's the case then I am confident that this young man was the victim of something that was nothing to do with him, which is all the more tragic. His family are, of course, devastated.

Yesterday I spent quite a while with a labourer on our building site, who was rather unwell. His colleagues clearly thought his crisis was religious in nature from the way he was talking, which is why they called me in, but I'm not so sure: I think a lot of that was cultural. The poor man has come to London from a very troubled country, whose former president was frequently named in his conversation with me. I think this chap has a number of reasons to be troubled, and the fact that he came to work carrying a Bible was more about his attempt to deal with his problems. I hope he's able to get some proper help, but I was impressed by the way that his colleagues reacted; they were all keen that he should be looked after.


The Star-Spangled Banner

I noticed on Saturday that the flag was at half-mast outside the US Ambassador's residence, presumably in respect of the Parkland school massacre. The cynical side of me thinks they must be doing that fairly frequently, though I've never noticed it before. I may be noticing the flagpole because they've cut down trees recently, so that may be no indication. I have previously wondered whether the flag flew to indicate that the Ambassador was in residence, but I had already reached the conclusion that it would need to be a personal standard (like the Queen's) for that to be true, not the US flag.

I did wonder whether the Ambassador might be moving house now that the US Embassy is moving to Nine Elms, after all Regent's Park is hardly convenient. He might go to Wimbledon, like the Papal Nuncio, which would surely be handier for Nine Elms. That said, though, I can't imagine anyone wanting to move out of Winfield House, which is supposed to be very splendidly appointed, and has the largest private garden in London after Buckingham Palace. In truth it's a rather stolid, ill-proportioned house, red-brick, Neo-Georgian, built for the Woolworth's heiress Barbara Hutton in 1936, to replace a Decimus Burton villa, which had once been rather spectacular, but which had fallen on hard times, but a succession of multi-millionaire ambassadors has seen to it that it is full of precious works of art and has been regularly refurbished. The lawns are of course large enough for Marine One to land when the President comes to stay, and that, I suppose, is why they won't move out, because with twelve and a half acres of garden and no neighbours, it's pretty secure. Mr Trump is, of course, quite right that Nine Elms is not nearly as grand as Grosvenor Square, but perhaps he thought the residence was there as well, in which case I can understand his anxiety, because it's always a bit hairy being a pioneer in a gentrifying area.


Contributory Negligence

You will be aware that I get very cross about cyclists being blamed for getting killed on the roads, but sometimes you do see things that shock you. This afternoon I was waiting behind a concrete mixer at the traffic lights on Chippenham Road. The concrete mixer was waiting to turn left, around The Squirrel, which is sharper than ninety degrees, so he was sat in the right hand lane, with his indicator flashing, and the audible warning saying he was turning left. As the light turned to green a female cyclist came up the left hand lane and went straight across the junction; fortunately for her, the concrete mixer was slow to move, but that was one of the stupidest bits of cycling I've seen in a while.

I just sat here in the Office and watched as three boys from Paddington Academy interfered with my bicycle. The first two just wiggled the bars in passing, but the third stopped and had a good attempt at wrestling the bike away from the fence to which it was locked. I did go out and remonstrate, but he'd already got bored and was walking off. I congratulate myself in being careful about security. A previous bike was written off by a thief who tried to do the same thing and found the lock was stronger than the aluminium frame, which bent under torsion (as did the railing).      

MAKING PROGRESS

Inspection

I inspected the cleaning of the ceilings last week, which was very exciting. The conservators have now started work on the chancel ceiling, which is quite different in technique from the nave ceiling. The chancel ceiling is painted directly onto the plaster covering the vault, with a rather rough surface. It even looks as though a little sand has been added to the paint in order to make the surface glitter in the light. Or possibly the opposite; an expert on Victorian painted schemes thinks they deliberately added texture to their paint because they were afraid that there would be too much reflection from shiny oil paint, as opposed to the flat matt colours of renaissance fresco. Either way, the result is the same, a desirably varied surface texture which will reflect light unevenly. The 1890 account of the church says the chancel was painted in oil, but that’s really no help, because the nave ceiling is done with oil paints as well, but the technique is very different. One of the conservators was suggesting today that marks in the surface suggest that the chancel was actually painted in proper fresco technique, onto wet (or at least damp) plaster. Proper, renaissance, buon fresco was done with the pigment mixed with just a little water or limewater, I believe, so I’m not sure how adding linseed oil would work, and anyway, the conservators’ report doesn’t suggest that this was really what was done, because there is a solid white paint ground under the colour. Certainly Victorian church decorators were genuinely interested in the techniques of fresco; the infamous episode of the Oxford Union murals, which Rossetti and friends undertook in the late 1850s is an example. The Union Society murals would never have looked much good in daylight, because they are painted onto a sort of clerestory wall punctuated with big windows, so the daylight overwhelms the wall paintings, but the point was that the Pre-Raphaelites had no idea of the technique required, and those are painted straight onto the bricks. We have some painting directly onto brickwork as well, in the westernmost bay of the chancel, around the window, but ours is fairly simple, floral and vegetal patterns on a creamy-yellow ground (rather than elaborate Arthurian romances in dark colours). Part of the issue for our conservators is to keep the whole composition looking of a piece when it is painted on three different surfaces which respond differently to cleaning. The fact that the Victorian artists were probably trying out techniques as well doesn’t help (though it is exciting).

Tiles

One of our central principles has been to involve local people as much as possible in the Project, and it has been frustrating that the conservation of the ceilings has proved to be too technical and delicate to let volunteers loose on. Just to make the point, when I went up to the nave roof, all the conservators were wearing respirators. However, one successful piece of community involvement has been the tile workshops. Lots of us went along one Saturday and designed tiles, based on images and designs from the church, which will end up in the café and in the lavatories. There was also a six-week workshop, though, where a number of people designed tiles to illustrate events or personalities from the history of Paddington, and the idea has always been to put those tiles, with captions, in the stair well of the new building. We shall have dates on the stairs (cast into the nosings on the steps) and then tiles from that period of time will be set into the wall. So the design for the fair-faced concrete of the staircase incorporates a number of recesses, into which the tiles will have to fit. So one of last week’s enjoyable tasks was to sort out the tiles and make a final choice of which will go where, and to compose the captions. Happily, the group had made tiles illustrating more or less all of the most significant events in Paddington’s history, and many of the most interesting personalities. I can live without the ones they omitted. My anxiety is whether the designers of the tiles which we haven’t actually chosen to use will be terribly hurt. I don’t know who designed what, so I hope we have a tile from everyone involved in the group. They all knew that all the tiles could not be used, but it would be natural to be disappointed, so I hope they will be happy that all their names will be on a credits list. I’m very happy with what we’ve got, as it has a pleasing symmetry, and covers a very diverse range of subjects.

More Kites

Driving along the M40 I saw three red kites about a mile east of the Beaconsfield Services, so that’s perhaps seventeen miles from here, as close as I’ve seen them.

Charles the Martyr

I marked the feast of Blessed Charles Stuart, King and Martyr, by going to see the show of his picture collection at the Royal Academy. There are some lovely things. It is impressive the see the Louvre “Roi en Chasse” alongside the two great equestrian portraits, and you are just reminded of what a magnificent painter Van Dyke was. There are three Titians hung together (two from the Louvre, one from the Prado) none of which I knew, and all are top-notch. There is an exquisite Rubens allegorical landscape, which I’d never seen before. Holbein, of course, stands out as usual, but it is instructive to be reminded that it was Charles who bought all the Holbeins, not Henry VIII at all. What is also notable is how many of the pictures are actually in the royal collection now, having been bought back by Charles II. The Mantegna “Triumph of Caesar” pictures are easier to see here than they are at Hampton Court, but no more likeable; you can acknowledge their greatness without finding much to delight in. Of course it’s also special to see the Mortlake tapestries which were made for Charles from the Raphael Cartoons (which are normally in store somewhere in Paris) but I find it hard to get too excited about them, because they’re not actually doing the things that tapestry does best, they really are just paintings translated into tapestry. This is a magnificent show, though. It’s wonderful what you can see in London.

Comic Opera

I even went to Islington to see three comic operas, at the King’s Head Theatre (behind a pub). My friend John Whittaker had written one of them, “The Proposal”, based on Chekhov, and it was great to see that. It’s only a short piece, (not as short as the 4-minute middle one) but it stands happily alongside a piece by Offenbach which was the third. These were put on by three singers and two musicians (one of them John, which was not what he had planned) so it was hardly grand opera, but it was good fun. The singers sang very nicely, and I think we laughed when we were supposed to (and not when we weren’t). A really entertaining evening. 

A MILESTONE IS REACHED

And There Was Concrete...

Finally, the first load of concrete was poured on Friday. So now we have begun to give substance to the new building (though I suppose you could say having inserted reinforcing rods into the ground, which happened last week, was the first step). I was on site, admiring progress on the ceiling, and happened to ask the site manager, who told me that concrete had been expected earlier, but now they were expecting it imminently. Half an hour later I cycled past and saw a subcontractor pacing around, talking on his phone, never a good sign. It was a good while later that it finally came, but it did come, and was poured.

I asked the site manager whether he knew where the concrete was actually coming from, but he didn't; the groundworking sub-contractor orders it from whoever he has an account with. I only asked because the concrete batching plant at Westbourne Park (belonging to Tarmac) is such a prominent feature of life round here. I can sit in the office and see concrete mixers and bulk carriers crossing the traffic lights every few minutes. In fact, this morning, on two consecutive phases of the lights inbound concrete mixers jumped amber-to-red lights. It would be perverse if we have a batching plant less than half a mile away and turn out to be buying in concrete from elsewhere, but of course Tarmac's production may all be going to Crossrail, or similar vast undertakings. I only know there is rather a small window of time after you put the ingredients in the mixer during which you have to use it, so a local plant is handy. No doubt I shall learn more, as there are four more pours to go, to say nothing of "fair-faced concrete". 

I cycle past a building site on the corner of Goldney Road and Maryland Road every day, and had to negotiate my way past a delivery from a concrete mixer one day last week, exactly on the junction. It is clear that those contractors have not attempted to suspend any parking bays, and so all their deliveries produce incredibly dangerous situations which cause a lot of congestion. I am reminded of the large number of licences and permissions that our architects and contractors have obtained for our work, and it strikes me that not everyone is quite as conscientious.


An Inspector Calls

A couple of weeks ago I came out of the Tuesday morning Mass at St Peter's to find a pleasant African lady sitting in the lobby. After the congregation had gone, she announced that she was an environmental health inspector from Westminster (and showed me her card), but she thought she had been misled because we were a church. She had already been to St Peter's School, thinking that the entry in her register must be for them, but they don't have a kitchen, only a servery. I assured her that she was in the right place, because despite its small size we do cook for the public in the kitchen here, but she wanted to see it in action, so I suggested she come back for Saturday Lunch Club (she doesn't work Saturdays) or for the Thursday Breakfast Club. Well, last Thursday she was back.

I was in the office when the cleaner came in and apologetically told me that she had let in "this woman, who says she's an environmental health inspector". So I went down and greeted her cheerily. Of course, neither Jacqui (who is in charge) or any of her volunteers were there yet, so I left the lady doing her emails. I texted Jacqui, who was still at home in Ladbroke Grove, having just been visited by an asbestos inspector. She texted me back to say she had warned her number two, Suzie. The next time I went downstairs some of the users had arrived and had set up the tables, and were beginning to put out the cutlery. The lady inspector had donned a white coat and was putting on a hairnet, which was frankly scary, but Suzie was not yet there. Now Suzie is lovely, but can be quite emotional, so I was beginning to get nervous, and when she did arrive she was frantic with anxiety. One of the volunteers (who's very willing, but has issues) rushed up to get our phone number, in a state of high excitement, as the lady needed it for her forms. I felt it prudent to print out our agreement with the pest control firm which shows that we had begun to take action on the mouse problem before this visit, but I needn't have bothered. Before Jacqui could get here and show off her paperwork, the nice inspector had signed us off with five stars. Big sighs of relief. Congratulations to the whole team.


Pests

The warden of the flats above St Peter's tells me that they have pest controllers coming in practically daily, so she was not surprised when I told her of our (apparently) solitary mouse, and our summoning of Wez, the rat man (don't call him that, obviously). It seems that they have been disturbed by having the boiler  room turned upside down.

Meanwhile, at home, Wez continues to visit, but the school rats don't come into my garden, and all the building work is pretty unfriendly to rodents. There was, however, a large fox in my garden at 8 o'clock this morning. I shooed it away, as I really don't want them to get the idea that they can hide away here. Casimir has chased a fox out of the garden before now, but I don't want to push his luck.

When we cleared the pigeons out of the north porch of the church I guess we thought they'd just go away, but they haven't. They've taken to perching on windowsills instead (which never used to happen), so our conservation architect instructed pigeon wires to be installed. Now they just perch higher up and defecate on the wires. My respect for my fellow human beings is sorely tested by those who feed these pigeons!

SOME PEOPLE

On the Road

Seen outside Paddy Power's betting shop on Sunday lunchtime: a tall middle-aged black man wearing a white towelling bathrobe, which he had accessorized with carpet slippers and a fur hat with ear flaps. An unusual look for January. Incidentally, I hate all Paddy Power's television advertisements, especially the one with the song where he sings, "Get those mustard trousers out of my face!" when the man he's passing has pink trousers. Not only naff, but incompetent (and prejudiced against mustard-coloured trousers).


Visitors

The Tall Polite Man from Archway appeared again last week. He often has a shopping trolley, and congregation members assumed he was homeless, and  so were very shocked when I told them he had an address over there, and perplexed that he should appear here.

Angry Woman with Dog came in the door of St Peter's House this week, when people were coming and going for a trustees' meeting. I wasn't here, but Kim found her, fortunately without the dog. Apparently she wasn't nearly as angry as usual, and went quietly. She didn't even touch any of the trustees for money. She said she has been rehoused outside London; and Kim thought she was looking better. If true, that is good news. I suppose she could have been back here to see her GP, who is just across the road, as I can imagine she would want to stay registered with him (he has been hugely supportive of her).

We were in the middle of the Tuesday morning Mass at St Peter's a few weeks ago when I saw a scruffy-looking gent come in to the back of church. He only paused a few moments and then left again. When I went to the back at the end of Mass I realised that the five-pound note that one of the congregation always puts in the basket (placed two rows from the door) was not there. She must have seen for herself that it wasn't there when she came out, but said not a word. As long as she doesn't think I took it...


Community

One of my families features a Palestinian dad and an Armenian mum. Their son came home talking about a party which some of the boys in his class had gone to. "Didn't they invite you?" asked his mum. "Oh no," he said, "It was only the Serbian boys who were invited. They didn't invite English boys." Hooray!


School Music

If you don't hang around musicians you may not have noticed that instrument cases have changed. Al Capone used to keep his tommy guns in hard violin cases, but those are barely seen now; everything is lightweight, made of high-tech materials, and designed to look like trendy backpacks. This enables schoolchildren to take instruments home (a very good thing). The other day I was coming down the steps of St Mary Magdalene's School at home time along with a bunch of eight year olds, many of whom were taking instruments home, and I found myself behind a tiny girl with a trombone on her back. As she went down the steps the case grazed the ground, so near her height was it. Her class teacher and I were both giggling, and she, more public-spirited than me, put out a hand to support the trombone. The girl, noticing, turned round and grinned winningly. I'm not quite sure how popular that will be with occupants of neighbouring flats, but children getting used to having proper musical instruments around the place must be a good thing, breaking down the "not for the likes of us" attitude which bedevils culture in this country.