George Harrison and Bob Dylan playing tennis (1969)

Tennis, the Beatles, Bob Dylan – three obsessions of mine at varying points of my life collide in these ace photos.

(from here)

The Type by Sarah Kay

Wise, beautiful words from poet Sarah Kay.

Girl from the North Country – Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash 1969

Beautiful song played by two amazing men.

Nina Simone in England September 1968 Live

Fabulous performance from the great lady

(from here)

So…

I’ve been flat out researching and writing assignments, seeing a couple of gigs, tending to my herbs and succulents and well, enjoying autumn and life in general.  It may not be frequent, but I’ll pop up here every now and then.

Of Herbs, Helmets and Hearts

It’s been a cracking summer weather-wise (although after a week of dry 30 something celsius heat, a little rain would be welcome) and my herbs are coming up nicely. The coriander showed up after 10 days, one sprout proudly bearing its seed as a helmet. The sage seedlings are proudly wearing their hearts on their err… heads.

Things are coming up

The first ickle parsley poked its head out on Sunday and it and its brethren have been incorrigible since. The sage (I think) in the egg carton has been proudly unfurling its little pod heads over the last couple of days.  And this afternoon, the first garlic chive shyly peeked out of the ground.

‘Ohm’ and Decluttering

So Christmas has come and gone.  As , unbelievably, so has the first month of 2013.  The garage has been emptied of fifteen years’ clutter.  And the garden is getting a tidying it hasn’t seen in years; the sickly and unsightly plants (and weeds) have been removed and all manner of unruly denizens (the main offenders being the lavender and fuschia and ) have been mercilessly pruned back.  I’ve started a compost heap, and begun to sow herbs.

Also enjoying Yo La Tengo’s new album Fade.  The music video for Ohm seems to capture the thoughts of trees, and plants and all things garden-ey filling my head.

The Tube

Dear London Underground,

Happy 150th birthday!

There have been inexplicable delays, blackened ‘nose residue’; a one hour halt on the Central line between Liverpool Street and Bank which I endured Elaine Benes-style one rainy Sunday afternoon in 2009 (I’ll not forget!); the cavernous, gleaming Spooks-like interiors of Canary Wharf; the everyone-is-coming-at-me-from-360-degrees hustle and bustle of Liverpool Street and Victoria; the shabby elegance of the District Line stations; lugging airport baggage along the 500m ‘interchange’ at Green Park between the Jubilee and the Piccadilly lines; lots of hellos (and goodbyes) at my most-frequented stations – Bethnal Green, London Bridge, Southwark, Waterloo, Liverpool Street;  the snow days which always brought the Underground to a stop.  And most hilariously, one evening while on the way home, a sonorous announcement: ‘the next train will be delayed due to leaves on the track’.

Yours with great affection,

Adeline

PS. My, how you’ve grown.

1889:

1920:

1939:

1964:

2012:

(1889, 1920, 1939 and 1964 from Retronaut; 2012 from TfL)

Bukowski and Waits

(Charles Bukowski read by Tom Waits)

As an Australian who has lived in London but not in North America, I am only now getting to know the work of Charles Bukowski, David Foster Wallace and a host of other great American writers, poets and essayists.

Tom Waits, on the other hand, needs no introduction.

This is a lovely little film of some of Charles Bukowski’s wisdom, read by the inimitable Mr Waits.