To Barnes and back via Dukes Meadows

I'm not that fond of the rain, but here we are! It's made its way to London today!

I'll be in Barnes today. That means a long walk from the bus stop. My knee joints aren't looking forward to that having been seriously exploited over the last few days. What to do? What to do?

I don't think I'll make it to see the shrine of  The T.Rex frontman: Marc Boland who died in a car crash. His sisiter was driving and the car crashed into a sycamore tree by the road. They travelled between his and his parents' house nearby. How tragic...
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In search for a quick lunch venue on this bitter cold Tuesday in posh Barnes I walked all the way towards the river on the one side of the street and back on the other side where I finally stopped at a pub. The freshly made portobello mushroom soup with wholegrain bread and butter sounded appealing. I went for it and enjoyed every spoonful and every bite. The other slice of bread I took home nicely wrapped in cling foil by the fantastically cheerful and chatty barmaid. She was in the middle of putting fresh tulips into little vases to decorate the tables. Mine was the first one to receive the trimming! I was spoiled for choices of seats. The pub was far from busy on this cold day. It was just after lunchtime really and the day was bitter cold indeed.
I wanted to seat in the warmth and to seat in this fantastic church was just fabulously comfy. The armrests fitted perfectly. That's what I like about a seat!

Nicely nourished I could get back to do the job.
It involved an ambitious task of dusting the glass cabinet with pretty special things. I came across compact sunglasses. What a practical, space saving solution!

Among many 'treasures' at Barnes Octavia shop, I saw a 1905 edition of Robert Luis Stevenson's collection of short stories titled "New Arabian Nights". The title probably was a good marketing trick. The book was first published around the time when Richard Burton's translation of 'Thousand Nights Stories' had gained popularity. Mind you, if you go back a few posts, you will find a tent-tomb sheltering Richard Burton and his wife's earthly remains. And, talking about wives, Fanny, R.L. Stevenson's wife was described as "the only woman in the world worth dying for." In 1915, her ashes were taken by her daughter to Samoa where they were interred next to Stevenson on top of Mount Vaea . Whose opinion was it? Her next and last companion's in adventure of the name Ned Field, almost four decades her junior American author, poet, playwright, artist and journalist. When she died, he married her daughter Isobel Osbourne who was twenty years older than him. They built an artists studio in California. Writers and actors would often meet at their home. Well, lives come in different patterns and configurations...

More of books:

What a picture!

Thames under Barnes Railway Bridge:

Look! That must be fun!

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Before I finish for today, I must jot down to get back to Erbil - one of the oldest cities on Earth. A friend's friend went there last year and was fascinated. Today I saw an article about it in The Guardian.