The youngest bore

I think I must be very used to living and waking up in the country because I was amazed at how noisy Canary Wharf is of a Sunday morning.

First of all, at 5:45 we had the City Dawn Chorus which consists not of birds but of people sitting on balconies heralding the day as loudly as possible. Incidentally, it was the same group that was sitting there last night when I went to bed. Does this mean they’d just sat there, smoking, drinking and talking all night?

Secondly the Coop delivery. I’m amazed that the supermarket has a delivery of a Sunday morning, particularly early on a Sunday morning.

But, thirdly, and easily the worst, is the street cleaning truck. It’s bad enough when it goes first up one side of the road then back down the other, it’s roar echoing around the streets like a seriously wounded warthog, but when the driver and passenger (why do they need two people?) decide to stop at the Coop for a drink without turning the engine off, the noise is just unbearable.

I am so glad I don’t live in the city. Needless to say, I left the flat quite early. Though not before snapping the progress of the Maine Tower:

Starting to block all views

Speaking of new buildings…the one at the end of South Quay seems to have just appeared. I remember it during the initial stages of construction when it was merely a tiny, indistinct blur on the horizon but now…well, it’s now an exclamation mark at the end of the basin.

I took this last night on the way back from the cricket

The trip to Waterloo was a lot less crowded than yesterday although Waterloo itself was full of people heading off for Wimbledon. Not that that affected my train in the least. My trip back to the Sweet Silence of Surrey was perfectly uneventful.

Of course it did mean having to ignore the youngest bore I think I’ve ever had the misfortune to overhear. I didn’t mean to overhear him but his voice was such that it was unavoidable.

He and his mate were about 14 or 15 I’d guess and they were on their way to Alton to ride the Watercress Line. That’s fine, I’ve done it myself a few times and I must admit to quite liking old steam trains. And had his conversation merely been about the day ahead (or yesterday or…well, anything interesting) it would have been all good but, instead, he regaled his poor friend with every dull fact concerning the rail line between Woking and Farnham (and I assume further).

I sat there, typing, thinking how much his parents must be glad when he leaves the house…unless his dad’s a trainspotter in which case I pity the poor mother.

It was with more delight than usual that I arrived at Farnham Station. I walked down from the station via Gostrey Meadow to be asked by a chap in a flouro jacket, standing at the end of the bridge if I was there for the Gathering. He was standing with two women, similarly attired and covered in demented smiles. I felt like I was taking part in a modern day Billy Goats Gruff story.

The park was covered in tents and stalls and a stage with folded chairs in front. I told him I was just passing through. He told a woman with a counter clicker thing not to click me because I was just ‘passing through.’

When I reached the middle of the meadow I saw the big sign above the stage. It proclaimed that this was The Gathering – Songs for Jesus. I hurried on wondering why Jesus can’t just get an online music account like everyone else. I should note that it was a lovely day for a picnic but that had less to do with imaginary friends and more to do with the continuing glorious weather.

Back at home, I collapsed into a chair and soaked up the delightfully noisy birds and insects, thankful that our street is never cleaned by a machine.

After lunch and a creamy coffee, we went to the garden centre because we don’t have enough flowers in our garden.

Forest Lodge

And, surprise, surprise, we found bidens! We bought four of them which I dutifully planted once I’d recovered from the act of buying them. Not that bidens were the only thing we bought.

Apparently it’s very important when shopping at the garden centre to make sure the trolley is as full as Mr Creosote before the wafer. We didn’t disappoint. The trolley groaned all the way to the car.

At home and rested, I planted up a few things in the Hot Border and a strange fluffy brush thing in the Candy Bed. I’ll finish the rest tomorrow…or the gardener will. We don’t know if he’s coming or not. We don’t have a lot of luck with gardener reliability.

Then, late tonight, I get a message to say that Ben had been sitting about five rows in front of us at the cricket. I’d put a photo on Facebook attempting to make him jealous only to have him come back with a message saying he had the same view as I did. Annoying because we could have had a beer.