Boring dreams

When other people talk about their dreams they’re usually totally surreal or else they’re nightmares. Me? I can’t remember the last time I had a really horrible nightmare. In my dreams I’m reading a newspaper or playing a record or sweeping the floor. How boring can a dream be?

Stansted Airport

There are several ways to get to Stansted Airport, by car, by coach, by train or you can cycle there! That’s what I did today. I cycled from Epping, through a maze of quiet minor country roads via Toot Hill, Moreton, Matching, Sawbridgeworth, Hallingbury and Takeley. The journey took four hours. And, yes, I’m a loony! I must have looked rather out of place with my fold-away bike among all the tourists, but I didn’t care! I just had a snack at Costa and cycled back to Walthamstow.

17th century music

I went to a concert on Thursday evening at St Mary’s Church in Walthamstow given by the counter-tenor James Bowman and the instrumental group Gli Amici della Rana. A very entertaining mix of German sacred and secular music from the 17th century. Peter McCarthy played what looked like a cello but had six strings – a basso di viola. Robert Howarth had his own small box organ and his virginal – similar to a harpsichord.


Lynne Duffus was talking about tattoos on BFBS radio yesterday. Some people fancy them, some even find them erotic. To me tattoos are a total turn-off. The only tattoo I like is at Trooping the Colour.

An extraordinary day

First, I was up at 5am. (I don’t usually get up before 8am). My neighbour in the downstairs flat had a couple of friends over, a man and a woman, but I was more concerned with getting on my bike and exploring the suburbs of North London. I left the house at 6:30 and cycled to Chingford, Waltham Abbey and Enfield.

When I returned at 12:30 the police were arresting the woman who was drunk and screaming blue murder. Then they arrested my neighbour and his male friend. As if that wasn’t bizarre enough, the police told me that the house was now a crime scene and I would have to stay away while a forensic team investigated the bathroom and my neighbour’s flat.

Well, I was about to go to work anyway, at the charity shop in Mare Street, so off I went. When I came back at 7pm, six hours later, the forensic team was still there and I couldn’t come in. (Good grief! How long does it take to investigate one room and a bathroom?) So I pottered about for another couple of hours in Tesco’s and in a NetCafe.

I got back at 10pm to find the police had finished their work and were gone. I’ve been awake now for 20 hours and I’m going to bed now and get some desperately-needed sleep.