A Day Like Milk And Honey - Visiting BATH

Royal Crescent

the river Avon

I was so lucky! The most beautiful weather made the honey coloured stones of Bath soft and welcoming. I saw so many gorgeous sights (and could take photographs for my working project too), that Picasa on Google will throw me out again if I post all the photos I like. So I have to choose, which isn't easy, as even the dinner in a quite normal restaurant was an architectural event:

And all the time I felt a bit like a figure in a novel of Jane Austen: like sitting in a georgeous ballroom and waiting who would appear - because, as you might know, I was to meet my fellow blogger, Tom Stephenson, for the first time and in person. 

The Assembly Rooms

When I read the blog of another person I get an impression, form a picture in my mind, and have a distinct vision how he or she will be. I'm so happy that I can assure you that I was right - a wonderful, witty and handsome man he is, and before you recommend me to plunge into the famous Roman Baths

 Roman Baths

 or even start to pray for my soul

Bath Abbey

 we were four: Tom, his lovely wife H.I. and  her daughter. We all talked so lively, that I managed just in time (running like a hare) to catch the train back to London.
Thank you all for a really lovely day!

 We'll meet again - in Bath or Berlin - and with Husband.

When Push comes to Shove

"Oh, that silly woman! Wait, we'll march through together", she said, putting her arms around me closely and pushing me in front of her through the opening barrier.
What had happened? I thought English people keep themselves to themselves - but this Lady gave me the closest body contact of the last 9 days! At Regent's Park tube exit a muddled woman in front of me had placed her handbag (!) on the place sign for oyster-cards, then marched on - hesitated - came back two steps ... her gates closed - but in the meantime I had put my traveler card into the slot of the machine - the gates opened - she marched through - but they were closed for me. (Good for the woman, come to think of it: the queue behind me gave her a few names I am eager to learn...)
Of course there was no assistant near - but, as you see, this damsel in distress, Yours Truly, was rescued by that courageous forceful maid who followed me. 
I then walked into Regent's Park (alone) - and visited Queen Mary's Rose Garden. But of the many, many roses there only 'Gertrude Jekyll' had opened her eyes (husband told me the same happens at the moment on my balcony in Berlin - as Getrude was a very stern and no-nonsense Victorian Lady-gardener and artist, neither cold nor rain can stop her (and of course I bought the rose named after her long time ago).

Though I saw I was right not to order "Sexy Rexy" (I believe that rose was named after the actor Rex Harrison, who earned that label) - but maybe the plants in Regent Park were just very young, baby vegetables, so to speak.
But the day itself: it brimmed over with sunshine.
Which I will try to capture with this cunning device: they little Ladybird-backpack contains a cord - so the mother has a grip on the child who can't get lost in a crowd.

"Puttin' on the Ritz" - or whatever you want

I always marvel when I catch that very special moment when something  is coming into reality, that weeks before was only an idea rushing through my head. There I started to think about it, planned, worried, stopped worrying (humming "What you focus on grows") - and then: a snap of the finger, and - whizz - I am actually here, standing on Trafalgar Square, or meeting my Facebook-friend Louise from Dover, or take a picture (precisely: 281 pictures) of the Chelsea Flower Show.
Now I am in London; having managed to bring my suitcase the long way through the tube, stopped worrying if someone will not be disillusioned by meeting me, and - wiser by being no spring chicken any more - I look left AND right when I cross the road, because I finally accept I will never learn that. 
I am here - in REALITY, not in dreamland! 
Above you (hopefully) see a dance from Top Hats - a musical I saw today - though it never crossed my mind that I ever would (normally I'm not much into musicals). Only a few days before, when Anne and I hastened through ice cold rain to Lincoln's Inn, she remarked: "Look - the Waldorf! And there - such a row of theatres with musicals!" 
And today I was sitting - well, not in the Waldorf - but in the musical Top Hats, because my lovely landlady invited me to a wonderful oldfashioned theatre with plushy seats, and a musical that gave us absolutely good spirits with its dishy tap dancers!  

This photo is not - as you might think - part of the musical, but a wall and the backside of seats in a restaurant were we (and sometimes 'Boris', as rumour has it) were dining before the musical.

"Take your brolly - they said it will rain!"

Well - I have to jump right into the puddle - writing, I mean - otherwise I have those lots and lots of things I want to tell you - but the good intention becomes the victim of perfectionism (as in "I shall tell about the Chelsea Flower Show first!") but I don't feel like it at the moment (though it was absolutely gorgeous!!!!)
And if I start to complain about the cold and the rain (and my envy about people wearing their winter coats and funny knitted caps - they were warm!) it is, as we say in Germany, also "snow from yesterday" - because today it was HOT! (And, to be fair: on Saturday at the Flower Show too, and the day when Anne and I were in Kensington Garden too; most of the people were lying on the green, green grass (a very posh gentleman in his immaculate suit, with a golden wristwatch and very fine shoes was lying for half an hour while speaking into his cellphone - all the time - but the sun even shone on him. Anne and I had the time to look at him because we recovered from the tour through the Kensington Palace, a wonderful meal in the Orangerie, and an extensive walk through the park).
YES, we have seen so much (this was not the programme for the whole day, oh no!) - and my friend is even more energetic than I (and she had only four days for a stay, so one day when we came back from Richmond, visiting her friend who proudly showed us her working place, the complete German school and its surroundings, and seeing polo players and walking miles along a lovely misty river Thames, then visiting the House of Ham, and then (!) Hampton Court, in and out, and then - coming back to Earl's Court, where our hotel was - she asked: "And what are we doing now?"
By and by I will tell you - but not now, as you might get tired.
Anne is back in Germany, and I am in Battersea now, and when I came back this evening the visiting sister of my lovely landlady and her niece said unisono: "So you are Britta - we heard of the many things you do and see - wonderful!"
Well - if you are in London now and see a tall slim woman running up the endless escalators of the tube - yes, the one in the leather jacket and a dark blue skirt and ballerinas (sign of how sensible I have become!), a pink little scarf and a dark-pink umbrella - that's me!

To Whom It May Concern

As I have an appointment at the the RHS Chelsea Flower Show,

I will not be able to read posts or make comments for a while, sorry! 

PS: The flat is under the vigilant watch of husband :-) 

Planning ahead!

As I am going to London next week, today I will only give you a part of the hilarious "The Diary Of A Provincial Lady" by E.M.Delafield -  (another part on Sunday) - to show you my mood and my amusement of watching myself...

July 17th. - Robert sees me off by early train for London, after scrambled and agitating departure, exclusively concerned with frantic endeavours to induce suitcase to shut. This is at last accomplished, but leaves me with conviction that it will be at least equally difficult to induce it to open again. (...)
Arrive at station too early - as usual - and fill in time by asking Robert if he will telegraph if anything happens to the children, as I could be back again in twenty-four hours. He only enquires in return whether I have my passport? Am perfectly aware that passport is in my small purple dressing-case, where I put it a week ago, and have looked at it two or three times every day ever since - last time just before leaving my room forty-five minutes ago. Am nevertheless mysteriously impelled to open hand-bag, take out key, unlock small purple dressing-case, and verify presence of passport all over again.
(Query: Is not behaviour of this kind well known in therapeutic circles as symptomatic of mental derangement? Vague but disquieting association here with singular behaviour of Dr. Johnson in London streets - but too painful to be pursued to a finish).
Arrival of train, and I say good-bye to Robert, and madly enquire if he would rather I gave up going at all? He rightly ignores this altogether.
(Query: Would not extremely distressing situation arise if similar impulsive offer were one day to be accepted? This gives rise to unavoidable speculation in regard to sincerity of such offers, and here again, issue too painful to be frankly faced, and am obliged to shelve train of thought altogether.)
(...)

Nocturnal Thoughts on Nostalgia

This term husband is giving his students a lecture on "Nostalgia" (come to think of it: it is a seminar, and the students are very young). So at home we discuss the phenomenon and I learn that the philosopher Arnold Gehlen said: "Only the acquisition, not the possessing is pleasure-oriented." (I disagree). Gehlen also speaks of boredom, tedium, inebriation, of consumer's happiness and the happiness of adventure, of Freud, Schopenhauer and Marcuse. He says that in the present exists no possibility of happiness. (I protest) He says that's why, to be happy, people develope images of happiness in the future - an utopia. But when this Utopia is realised - asks Gehlen - what shall we do then to escape boredom? "But when the phantasy of happiness radiates backwards, then we finally reach nostalgia."
Aha. I cannot find out if Gehlen thinks that nostalgia is a good thing, or if he is only describing different ways to (in his belief non-existent) happiness.
I have been quite a while on this beautiful planet, but I am not old enough for nostalgia and hope I will never be - so boring, dreaming only of past times glory. Don't get me wrong: I love history - personal and mankind's history - what I do not like is that sour "Formerly everything was better" (I can remember very well that it seldom was).
I think there are two kinds of nostalgia: I know a lot of people advancing in age who see their life as a series of losses - though they have had a very good life. Of cause they are right: everything has an end one day. A wonderful lover leaves, a dear friend goes away, a sister behaves very strangely - that's awful. But they only look back, and dream, and complain, and don't see what is now good, because in their eyes everything is getting downhill.
Then there is nostalgia when people are grateful for what they have been given at their time being, but accept (teeth-gnashingly) that nothing is forever, and are glad about that encounter or experience - this form of nostalgia leaves you energy to concentrate on what's still good around you. I refuse to cry (too long) about the cookie I've eaten. It was delicious - so what?
I think Mr. Gehlen needs not to struggle with utopia - the present is the only way to happiness I can imagine.
Though of course I am a long way from the Famous Wise One who hangs on a cliff - a tiger above him, a panther beneath him in the canyon - he sees that delicious strawberry growing on that rock he is hanging on with one hand - and, being a Taoist, he picks it and enjoy it with all his senses.