Peacocks to our Ravens
Just in the 15min walk from my office to tonight's eatery (The Real Greek) and so many impressions to sort.
So easy to tell the foreign tourists from the Brits. the Brits are quite grey and dully clothed. Foreigners are the Peacocks to our Ravens - unafraid to wear bright red jackets and emerald green trousers. The exception is when the Brits are actively participating in sport, then we become Kingfishers zooming by with a flash of yellow & lime.
Crossing the Millennium Bridge I notice it is low tide and the muddy banks of the Thames are fully exposed. Then I spot a dozen people mooching around down on the shore. In all my years in London I've never noticed that before. It must be tourists. The locals wouldn't be so foolhardy. We remember the polluted past of the river, though they say it's quite clean now.
Reaching the Bankside end of the Millennium Bridge several things hit me:
I. The grating at the V where the bridge starts to part into two legs really shouldn't bounce so alarmingly under foot
II. There is that lovely smell of frying onions which usually accompanies those really revolting hot dog stands. Didn't think there was a hotdog concession here
III. The sound of bird whistle fills the air. You know that sound, totally unlike any bird song, but sounds exactly like someone playing a 'bird whistle'
IV. The dogs that beggars trade amongst one another and use to increase their sympathy take - they really work. I see a Raven lean down to fuss the dog, and hear coins hitting the owner’s tin. Astounded to discover such an obvious ploy work on a cynical Londoner
V. The onion smell is coming from an ice-cream van driving slowly along the Bankside road touting for business amongst the Peacocks. An ice-cream van converted to salmonella sausage-inna-bun factory. That is just so wrong
It's too windy at The Real Greek to sit outside, so I opt for a window seat and watch the Ravens and Peacocks go by, interwoven by the Kingfishers darting past.
So easy to tell the foreign tourists from the Brits. the Brits are quite grey and dully clothed. Foreigners are the Peacocks to our Ravens - unafraid to wear bright red jackets and emerald green trousers. The exception is when the Brits are actively participating in sport, then we become Kingfishers zooming by with a flash of yellow & lime.
Crossing the Millennium Bridge I notice it is low tide and the muddy banks of the Thames are fully exposed. Then I spot a dozen people mooching around down on the shore. In all my years in London I've never noticed that before. It must be tourists. The locals wouldn't be so foolhardy. We remember the polluted past of the river, though they say it's quite clean now.
Reaching the Bankside end of the Millennium Bridge several things hit me:
I. The grating at the V where the bridge starts to part into two legs really shouldn't bounce so alarmingly under foot
II. There is that lovely smell of frying onions which usually accompanies those really revolting hot dog stands. Didn't think there was a hotdog concession here
III. The sound of bird whistle fills the air. You know that sound, totally unlike any bird song, but sounds exactly like someone playing a 'bird whistle'
IV. The dogs that beggars trade amongst one another and use to increase their sympathy take - they really work. I see a Raven lean down to fuss the dog, and hear coins hitting the owner’s tin. Astounded to discover such an obvious ploy work on a cynical Londoner
V. The onion smell is coming from an ice-cream van driving slowly along the Bankside road touting for business amongst the Peacocks. An ice-cream van converted to salmonella sausage-inna-bun factory. That is just so wrong
It's too windy at The Real Greek to sit outside, so I opt for a window seat and watch the Ravens and Peacocks go by, interwoven by the Kingfishers darting past.
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