Way over yonder that's where I'm found..God it's a lovely evening,
I'm sat here squinting as the low sun is burning at last through my main window.
On the window sill my potted up herbs are surging up to meet the light even the lavender seems to be growing cms by the day, the parsley is almost big enough to regreen the hacked up trees the other side of the pane.
In the kitchen my first rhubarb of the year is bubbling away on the stove top, (the bloke in green grocers looked at me funny when I asked where it was from but he showed me the box any way and pleasingly it's from the right place) . So the whiff stewed fruit is mixing with the smell of roasting fennel. All this to the tune of this rather famous selection which I realised I hadn't heard all the way through. Then I heard Ms King talking about it last week on the radio and would you know there it was this morning, nestling (hardly unplayed) amongst the knock off long life lamps and playstation ones.
Out past my stereo the suns silhouetting the faux cupola of the school across the way. Which for a while now looks like it's become the home to some trapped south london damsel. As in louvres under the dome there's a piece of cloth trapped in slats. As the cloth flaps in the wind its like a plaintive cry for help.
In the kitchen my first rhubarb of the year is bubbling away on the stove top, (the bloke in green grocers looked at me funny when I asked where it was from but he showed me the box any way and pleasingly it's from the right place) . So the whiff stewed fruit is mixing with the smell of roasting fennel. All this to the tune of this rather famous selection which I realised I hadn't heard all the way through. Then I heard Ms King talking about it last week on the radio and would you know there it was this morning, nestling (hardly unplayed) amongst the knock off long life lamps and playstation ones.
Out past my stereo the suns silhouetting the faux cupola of the school across the way. Which for a while now looks like it's become the home to some trapped south london damsel. As in louvres under the dome there's a piece of cloth trapped in slats. As the cloth flaps in the wind its like a plaintive cry for help.
The only thing to spoil this pleasant scene is the continuing boycott of my bird feeder by Deptford's avians. A rather thoughtfully sent it me and it's brimming with the finest birdseed that I schlepped all the way from Holborn but as yet no luck. I've spread some kernels on the ledge to tempt them in but as yet not peck, hang on there's some movement, oh no just a starling flying past.
So the big question for this evening hot or cold rhubarb with custard , cream or yoghurt?
6 comments:
I'd have pushed the boat out and gone for a bit of crumble on the top (with the custard option). What did you decide in the end?
What kind of bird seed do you have? Sunflower hearts are particularly popular round our way.
If you've just put your feeder out, you may have just missed the hungry period and therefore the real incentive for the birds to find you?
And I'd say custard - what did you opt for?
Dear both it was custard with some make shift crumble in the form of some broken up ginger nuts. (it was tinned custard I'm not enough if calvinist to think making you own custard is some sort sign of moral superiorty!)
I have some sunflower seeds and this morning the few I had on the sill have gone either eaten or blown off.
You are right it's the end of the season and my flat is abit of a barren cliff so it will take a while.
Also there are starlings nesting in the eaves above and they may scare of smaller birds but finger crossed!
hot and custard. always. although i was warned off rhubarb in a kidney stones incident. and spinach.
x
ally,
you are worrying me now. As I had the left overs cold with yoghurt after a bowl of spinach soup!
you're doomed
x
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