CityShapes - Dolphins

Sunday Street - Irony

"Irony" - associated with iron.

In this case the plethora of balconies and bridges criss-crossing the narrow streets behind London's South Bank wharves.

Today's street is Gainsford Street, just off the southern end of Tower Bridge, looking east toward Butler's Wharf. Trendy restaurants ahoy!

Why Political Correspondents Love The Damart Catalogue

No reason for today's post; I'm steering clear of the pooter for a couple of days so this is filler.
This is a photo I took mid-afternoon just before Christmas of some poor sap from the BBC shivering in the freezing cold, waiting to interview some imbecile politician.

This place is known locally as "Liars' Lawn" because it's where all the political interviews take place for the news channels. It's actually the flat grass roof of Abingdon Street underground car park …

… but where the guy's camera is pointing gives this as a backdrop, which is pretty cool.

Enjoy your run-up to the new year. I'll be enjoying an early night tomorrow, for all the usual reasons.

Singing In The Smegging Rain

Today is the day of the office Christmas Party.
Veteran readers will know just how anguished is the howl that accompanies those dread words.
Here is last year's again, for anyone who wants reminding that we'd drunk the bar dry by mid-afternoon or who wants to see Kellie with a chocolate penis on her nose.

For those - like me - who don't want reminding, here's a teensy festive distraction.

I was in London yesterday and - as Londoners know all too well - there's nothing that dampens the festive spirit quite so effectively as a piss-miserable lunchtime of freezing rain in Regent Street.

For some reason I had a bloody Christmas song stuck in my head all the way from Margaret Street down to Mitsukoshi.
And now you will, too …

An Architect Writes …

Never trust an Architect …
Never trust us when we tell you what your building will cost; double it and add a heap of debt.
Never trust us when we say it'll be built on time; double it and add a nervous breakdown.
And above all: never trust us when we say "the building is made of glass and will reflect the skies and become ethereal and invisible and will in no way detract from the historical skyline."
You have been warned.
I've lived with myself for fifty-four years and I don't trust myself an inch.

The House of Rampant Lies

The House of Rampant Lies (as you know, my theory that the true nature of things is revealed in their anagrams is borne out by "The Houses Of Parliament" becoming "The House Of Rampant Lies") actually looks quite good in the dark (four o'clock now and getting darker as midwinter approaches).
The people who built this blingfest also put the fake gargoyles on the old palace (see yesterday's post).

Hum and Bug

Fuck it! I hate snow with a passion; a passion so intense that the like of it is rarely seen outside of Mexican TV soap operas.
You guessed it. Hiver est arrivé and with it the swearing.
Outside my window this morning the fields are as white as week-old dogshit.
If I had any money I'd get the hell out of this miserable shithole and move somewhere warm.
Donations gratefully accepted.

While I wait for the cash and plane tickets to roll in - and because I know you like that sort of thing and I'm a kindly soul - here are some of the Christmas lights from my second spiritual home of Piccadilly.

Note the hordes of Christmas shoppers. Having taken away all of our money, the government now begs us to "spend our way out of the recession."

Yeah? With what, you fuckwits? We don't all have a forty million pound personal fortune like "Call me Dave; I feel your pain" fucking Cameron.
You've taken everything we have, you utter bastards. You've given it to your friends (£9 billion in UK bankers' bonuses this year alone - and all this mess is their fault) who have hidden it offshore.
Spend your OWN way out of the fucking recession.
Gits.

Can you tell that Christmas is coming? If you're new to this blog, don't worry; it's like this every year.
Bah, and a great big dolloping side-helping of Humbug.

Cobwebs

St.James's Park, Westminster; 5PM.

Stained Glass Sunday - Sweet

Why should churches have all the fun?

This is MY kind of stained glass!

These are in Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly.

November Afternoon - Westminster Abbey

By four-thirty in the afternoon (when this was taken) it's already pretty dark here in the frozen north. By Christmas it'll be dark at three-thirty. Sheesh!

This is the time of year that reminds me we're as far north as the bottom end of Hudson's Bay, which is why we're such a miserable bunch of sods much of the time.

Roll on Spring (how many hundreds of times have I said that on this blog over the years?) …

Pigeon Party

The quiet beauty of St.James's Park in November.

Wednesday Window On A Thursday - Lulu

Meanwhile … in Burlington Arcade …
"Hey, HWDB! D'you think the girls would like those handbags with the lips?"
Jules considers spending PNG's entire gross national product on two handbags.

Yikes.

Paradise Comes To Town

Hokay … Time to reveal which of our original Blogville neighbours turned up for lunch with Old Dive yesterday.

Here's a hint: if you live here (and she does), where on earth would you go if you wanted to take a break from Paradise?

Yep: you got it: London … In November … Cold, rainy, windy and about as far from Paradise as it's possible to get.
So a big welcome to the Frozen North for the lovely Jules and the almost equally lovely "He Who Doesn't Blog" from Rabaul Daily Photo … who has a name now, but will be referred to today in his original blog ID as HWDB.

And here they are, shivering in front of the Parasite House, having left Paradise in 32 degree Celsius temperatures not long before and arrived in 32 degree Fahrenheit temperatures, well wrapped up against the London weather.
At any other time of year, the bridge over the lake in St.James's Park is a beautiful and romantic place to meet; in November, it's just cold, wet, covered in dead leaves and swan crap and mercifully devoid of tourists … well, apart from this splendid pair.

Here's Jules being Jules. She's even more fun in person than she is on her blog and Facebook. She came bearing gifts, both beautiful and bizarre … more on that another day, however.

Christmas in Paradise and Christmas in the arcades of Piccadilly are two quite different affairs, so it's nice to do both (this weekend I'm buying a lottery ticket as it's the only chance I've got of a return visit).

HWDB - as well as being witty, charming and doing an astonishingly spectacular coffee-juggling, erupting volcano impersonation, is also eagle-eyed; he spotted the PNG High Commission which I've walked past a thousand times without realising it's there.
Home from home.

Jules and HWDB are here for only a short time before flying off to warmer climes; this time Barcelona, where I'm sure they'll have a fabulous time (as well as recover from the cold).

So thank you both for a really great fun visit and for my fantastic prezzies. Have a great time in Catalunya and remember to change out of your arctic clothes before getting off the plane back in Paradise.
I love it when blogs collide.

Photographers: Beware of Pigeons

Back in London today for some meetings; one of which will hopefully be a lot more fun than the others. At lunchtime, on the very spot from which I took this photo of Whitehall - complete with speeding pigeon - I shall be meeting one of our original Blogville residents (sadly no longer blogging and sorely missed).
I wonder who it shall be …

Wednesday Window - Palace of Westminster

Cityshapes - Pollards

Wednesday Window

Watching the window dresser at Fortnum and Mason on Piccadilly.

Cityshapes - Carousels

Towers of London

No reason … I just enjoyed stitching all the photographs together.

Cityshapes - Patterns of Man; Patterns of Nature