Quick, history: London Bridge, the. “Even London’s bridge has fallen down and moved to Arizona…” (London Homesick Blues, Gary P. Nunn.) Next oldest bridge? Westminster. Here’s the view. And I have no idea what it represents. The dome is St. Paul’s.
Devil’s beating his wife – Shaftsbury Avenue, Monday afternoon….
So there I was, trying to find a place that had a catchy name, it was specialty store, and I was looking for it, only, when I did find it, it turns out, their specialty? Skull rings. You know, skull and crossbones, skulls with ruby eyes, skulls with nothing but a grinning death mask?
While I found some of them rather fetching, I mean, I even tried on one ring that was almost perfect for me, I just don’t see that going with my usual attire. Of course, a grinning skull with ruby eyes would make such a darling bolo tie, too.
So I ambled back out into the afternoon, noting that there was sunlight, plus, a few drops of rain. Plus a downpour. Rain falling down through the sunlight, a fitting backdrop for Shaftsbury Ave. Only, I didn’t I have anyone to turn to, and comment, “Look, the Devil’s beating his girlfriend.”
I stood under a bus stop, but since I didn’t have a clue as to where I was going, or maybe, I didn’t know where the buses were going, I decided to stick to tried and true methods for getting around. It’s a short walk down the one avenue to a tube stop that I know will deliver me, in two stops or less, to where I was going.
Midsummer Night’s Dream is always a favorite – one of those plays that gets lots of mileage, all the time. One last play, on the last night.
What an amazing performance by the Propeller Group. Abut a dozen males, doing all the parts, and the way they dealt with the verse itself, sheer magnificence.
It’s time to get on an airplane and head my self back home.
No Zen classes
not held here
every other Thursday.
