All things bright and beautiful

It was one of those rare, sunny winter days, when the sky is a clear brilliant blue and you can tell just from looking out of the window that it is so cold outside that your fingers will freeze, your cheeks will smart and you cant help but let your eyes blink tears. And rather than being sensible, staying in and snuggling up under a duvet with the cat, Liam and I pulled on two pairs of socks, some boots and a couple of warm layers. I grabbed my camera and we headed out to Wandsworth for a walk.

I think there is nothing quite so beautiful (or peaceful) as walking through an old graveyard, and Wandsworth Cemetery, which opened in 1878 was where we found ourselves. As the sun cast spectacular shadows upon what would usually be seen as a sombre and mysterious place, we took our time walking along the paths. We read aloud unusual names, admired the Gothic stone carvings, and noted how on even some of the older graves, someone had placed fresh flowers.

There were a few older headstones that stood out and caught my eye as we passed. I didn't think it would be wrong to take a photo to remember them and share how beautiful they were with you. 

 

 Photos taken Wandsworth Cemetery, Magdalen Road 

 

100 Words: An Undecided Sky

I’ve been staring out of the window all morning. Intermittent patters of rain hit the glass at various angles and drizzle down the pane. The sky is undecided as to its mood, swapping patches of murky grey for off whites and pale blues. The cat sits on the windowsill, ears pricked for each violent splatter of rain. It falls quiet. The living room becomes flooded with a warm sort of light. The cat yawns as the sun pats her back.  The last few stagnant raindrops are caught quite by surprise. They heave a sigh and roll quickly away, glittering furiously.

Kiss me quick!

Waking up early on a Sunday morning, I peek out of the curtains. Its only 7:00am and it’s always going to look foggy like that at this time. The clouds loom over head, but it’s still bright, nonetheless. I’m positive, I’m excited, and quickly run a cool shower. Liam’s still snoozing as I pull on my jeans, a short white T-shirt, and a long navy cardigan. To flip-flop? Or not to flip flop?  I didn’t. I opted for black leather pumps instead. The kettle sounds loud in the quiet flat, as I flick it on, and it jumps into action. It wakes up the cat who is not used to such early morning start on a Sunday. She mews and expects her breakfast before I go to get mine.

It’s a quick turnaround, and within twenty minutes all the lights are turned off, the radio set onto Radio 4 to keep the cat company, before the front door shuts behind us and the key is turned in the lock. Do you think the peach mac or the canvas jacket? I ponder at the top of the stairs. Do you want to catch the train or not? He asks, rolling his eyes at me. The air is fresh, so I stick with the mackintosh and we race to the train station.

One change. Two change. A hot sausage roll and take-away coffee later, we are on the train to Brighton. It’s only an hour journey and I pop one earphone in my right ear and one in Liam’s left. It’s still early, I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. Two little girls colour a large pad of paper with bright felt-tip pens in the chairs next to us. An old lady and her flowered shopping trolley get on ten minutes later. She parks it close by and shuffles onto the seat opposite me. Gardens with whirligig washing lines full of whites pass by, fields busy with Sunday morning football clubs appear and then are gone as quickly as I saw them. Clatter, bump. Jitter, clunk; the train clambers down the track.

In no time at all, I’m being woken up. My hand in his, I am led down the platform, among a swarm of people. I look up to a maze of Victorian windows and beams, painted blue high up above my head; the station roof. A stern brow and a nod from the inspector. Tickets please. I hand him mine. Thank you. He says.

On the sunny side of the street we walk, avoiding the sea wind whipping past us too cold. I feel like skipping now we are out of London, out of the smoke and one square metre of space in that city. The air feels lighter. Can I see the sea? I tiptoe for a moment. I’ve got to see the sea! Not quite yet. We walk closer down the hill, passing cafes and slightly run down shops, the kind you know have been there forever, with their signs a little peeled, and their customers too few. The promenade is not yet busy. It’s open for business with one or two stalls, selling shells and jewellery spread out on bright cloths. Tinkling music is playing, all in different tunes, from different places, luring you to each end of the stretch. And there’s the sea! My hands are place gently on the cool metal bars along the front. Feel my feet firm on that concrete promenade. But my heart wants to leap out from my chest and do a little dance over the waves into the distance. Take a deep breath, it smells like the sea; salty and fresh. Miles and miles of glittering blue, today quite calm and still.

A Mr Whippy ice-cream? He asks as he kisses my head. Oh, yes, please. No flake... I remember to add. The sun has got hot, I feel it on my face. We walk slowly towards the pier with our ice creams, hand in hand. The pier vibrates with the music on the megaphone. It's Bob Dylan. So we stand and watch the sea, and listen for a while. My Mac over my arm, I tiptoe across the slats. Avoid the dips, the gaps and damaged bits and eye the rusty bolts with suspicion.

We have all the time in the world as we walk along the pier, the wind blowing my hair gently to the right. I feel like a Victorian Lady from an old sepia photo. I pretend I'm in a long frilly dress, adorned with jewels, my parasol and hat. I strut proudly along the pier. Link arms with my tall, top-hatted man, and laugh as I imagine his handlebar moustache.

Ker-ching! Clunk Clunk Clunk! Brrrrring! Oooh, the Penny Arcade. Flashing lights. Tinkling tunes. I feel seven again, and rush to go inside. Holding as many two pennies in my hand as possible. I make a little carrier for them with the bottom of my T-Shirt. Eyes darting to the trays underneath, I look for the coins which have fallen too soon. One through the slot. Slide down the chute. Hit the bottom. Spinning around and around until it stops. Then sweep. Knocked down a level. Pushing the rows forward and forward more. One or two fall, and I hear the satisfying clatter of two pences in the tray below. And everyone stops to glare a jealous look.

I see the fair at the end of the pier from the corner of my eye. Dodgems, the Waltzers, a Helter Skelter - roller coasters galore!

I grasp Liam's hand, dragging him across the slats. Oh we've got to have a go on the Waltzers! He looks at me as if I'm crazy. But I was sick last time... He says. Oh don't be a baby. Lets get tokens! I kiss his cheek. We change over six pounds with the tiny lady in the booth, and compromise to have a go on The Twister - fast, but less sicky.

The bar goes down across our laps. We hand over our tokens. The bell sounds and the music starts. His arm is tight around my shoulders. The ride jolts into action; we swing sharply to the left. There's a pause for half a second - I catch Liam's eye - before we fly across the section, my hair whipping furiously behind me. I throw my head back and look to the sky. Hands in the air! I scream to him. The people waiting by the side, whizz in and out of sight. My heart is thump, thump, thumping so I hold on tight. His face looks green, his teeth are grinding and his lips curl. 

We slow right down all of a sudden; the music comes to a stop. My hand is white from gripping on so tight. Giggling, I lift the bar and hop onto the floor.

His arm slips around my waist and I pretend not to notice that he's wobbling a bit, or that he's using me as a crutch. Laughing, we pass a small pub with patio chairs and tables. How about a pint on the pier? I ask, with a slight glint in my eye. Hmm... Maybe in a bit. He says, squinting into the sun. I flop over the railings to the sides of the pier; still trying to catch my breath. We look out to sea, to the beautiful blue and right across the stony beaches. The sun beats down a little stronger than before. The tinkling music plays on. Lets get you back to shore. I say.

A lucky black cat. The End.

I saw him standing at the end of the road, waving at me and smiling like a lunatic, a little black cat by his side snug and safe in the cream canvas cat carrier. Even from nearly two hundred metres away, I could see her eyes peeping through the black mesh, all big and looming. Bess had become quite heavy now she had a huge bandaged leg, so I was grateful Liam had been able to carry her to the hospital.


Liam had taken the morning off as I had to make it in for work at 8:30am, since there was no one available to cover those first few morning hours on reception, I had left work at 10:00am, grabbed my coat and taken the tube, reaching East Putney only twenty minutes later. As I walked out from the station, the sun was more than shining - it was positively beaming down on me - and I hoped it was the sign of a good omen.
The animal hospital wasn't far from the station, and I was glad for the walk along Putney high street to clear my head, it was nice to be in there at a strange hour, amongst different types of people - the ones I usually miss from being at work.


Nervous wasn't the word. Desperate was more accurate. 


'Don't worry.' Liam said as I reached him. 'You look petrified! You know what? If it doesn't work today - we have a back up.'


'I know.'

That was one thing at least.

'I'm okay. But thanks for bringing her over...' I replied softly, and then I leant down until those two gleaming black eyes were level with mine. 'Come on then, girl.'


I picked up the cat carrier and kissed Liam goodbye before walking towards the automatic glass doors.
Inside Putney RSPCA Animal Hospital, it was organised chaos. There were (rather unsurprisingly) all kinds of animals, being held on leads, in boxes, cages and on the knees of their worried-looking owners. I was rather amused, despite the situation, to see how many people in that waiting room did in fact resemble the animal they'd arrived here with. (Whether that meant I was small, black and furry, was quite another thing.)


I approached the reception, and gave my name to the lady dressed in green overalls behind the counter. She nodded and smiled at me, before ushering me to take a seat in the crowded waiting room. Stepping over one of the biggest dogs I had ever seen, I lifted Bess high above my head, partly because I didn't want her to get worked up about the dogs, and partly because the huge animal had started sitting up to sniff her. I placed her in the corner, so she didn't have to see the Chihuahua opposite, or the yappy Westie to it's right who just wouldn't stop barking. I realised after about five minutes that there were, in fact, loads of dogs in this waiting room. And then I noticed the large black and white sign on the opposite side of the room, which read 'CATS AND SMALL ANIMALS'.


Oooohhh.


Back over the enormous dog (bear?) that was still sprawled out across the pathway, we went, and into the much quieter area of 'Cats and Small Animals'. It was a bit like Narnia. No, it wasn't, really. But there was definitely no sniffing, barking, yelping, scratching or drooling. Hurrah.


There was one other girl sitting alone on the bench, with her cat placed on the floor by her feet. As I walked over, looking relieved, she smiled, and leant forward immediately to talk to me.


'Much quieter over here, isn't it!?' The girl said cheerily as I walked over. She was roughly my age, perhaps a little younger, and had wide expressive eyes and a open face. Instantly I connected with her, mainly because she was willing to talk to a complete stranger (like I do), but also because she had made me feel at ease in a situation where I was far from it.


'Ahhhh... Is that your baby?' She leant over and peered in at Bess. 'She's beautiful. Look at her silky fur. What's her name?'


'Bess.' I replied. And perhaps, as a rather unnecessary after thought I added, 'I named her after my Great Grandmother.'


'This is Gypsy, but we also call her Gyps. An actual gypsy woman gave her to us when she was a kitten.' The girl said. When she spoke, she waved her hands about a lot. I do that too.
'That's so sweet.' I replied, looking through the bars at her huge black and white cat, with a little black dot on her nose.


'Yes, well. The gypsy said she would have to drown her if they couldn't find a home for her, so we took her in at once.' The girl looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, before going on to ask me question after question about why we were here, what had happened at the other vets, how the prices for vets fees are just terrible and finally how she was here today because she had found a lump on Gypsy's back. Gypsy, I'd just found out, was nearly fourteen, and the second eldest of her four cats.


I was grateful for this chatty girl who loved cats. But before long, a vet walked out into the corridor and called Bess' name. I quickly wished the girl- and Gypsy- good luck, before picking up Bess and her three x-rays (which I had brought with me), and followed the vet into one of the side rooms.


The room was larger than the one we had waited in at the vets last week. The lady who had ushered me in, was indeed the vet, and she introduced herself as Juliet. Juliet had a sparkle in her eyes, and sounded ever-so posh, like she might have had horses and a swimming pool at home. She was matter of fact, but kind, because she put me at ease right away by joking about how they (meaning the other vets) might have given Bess a pink bandage, as it looked like she supported Manchester City football team with the sky blue one she had on now. I laughed, and said it might well be appropriate as she was born in south Manchester... Juliet took the x-rays out of the brown envelope and got to looking at them right away on the light box.


Alongside Juliet was a friendly-looking man in his late twenties. He was the veterinary nurse assisting the vet. He beamed at me, and I noticed how lovely his teeth looked when he smiled.


'It must have been a nightmare week for you. But don't look so worried, you can relax now! Bess is in safe hands.' He said as he helped me lift her carrier onto the examination table.


'Oh yes.' Juliet piped up. 'It's a bad break, and the bone is quite splintered. I really wouldn't recommend any other kind of operation, than one to insert a plate along the bone. Of course, there is always the option of amputation, but I really think we can fix her leg without such drastic measures.'


'And you can do the operation for her, here, at the RSPCA?' I asked, tentatively, shuffling from one foot to the other, expecting the worst.


'No problem. Now, we are very upfront about payment here, and we don't mind talking about money. A lot of people who come to us haven't got much to spare, so we understand the need to be open. Obviously since we are a charity, we are able to subsidise the prices heavily for you, but you are on the higher side of our pay bracket... Let me see... An operation would be in the region of....'

She checked her computer for a moment.


'... £400 at most. That's everything included. Today's consultation, the operation, anaesthetic, a few overnight stays, and the after care to take the stitches out and future x-rays. It won't be any more than that.' She pulled a oh god this is a lot and I'm sorry face.


I nearly jumped over the examination table to kiss her. She would do it. I could find that sort of money - I mean, it wasn't nothing - it was still a lot - but it wasn't such a unimaginable amount as £1,700. I suddenly felt lightheaded.


'Lets do it. Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am that you can help her. I've been so worried about her, and I've felt like such an irresponsible parent for not taking out pet insurance...'


'Oh, don't be silly. Even I don't take out pet insurance for my cats. They can be so catchy, full of loop holes.'

I didn't like to point out at that point that she was a vet and could probably operate on them at home on the kitchen table, herself.

She was quick, matter of fact, as went through the details of the surgery. She mentioned how, if once they'd opened her leg, it looked worse than they'd originally thought - impossible to salvage - then they would do the best thing for Bess' future recovery and quality of life - even if that meant amputating the leg. I trusted her implicitly. So, is that it? I kept saying to her, over and over, hardly believing that they didn't want more money, and there were no more complicated matters than this.

'That's really it.' Juliet said, laughing. 'She will be fine, don't worry. Give us a ring tonight, to see if we managed to squeeze her in for the operation today - if not, she will definitely be done tomorrow. Plus, you can pop in to see her anytime you like during working hours over the next few days, if you miss her.'


'Thank you so much for looking after her.' I said, and I had never meant it more.


The smiley male nurse, who's name I had found out was Leandro, went to pick Bess out of her carrier to put her into the RSPCA cage with a soft green blanket, which he had prepared as Juliet had been talking to me.


'Do you want to give her a cuddle before you go?' Leandro asked, avoiding knocking her huge blue bandage on the sides of the carrier.


'Yes please.' I said, as I took her out of his arms, and kissed her velvety left ear. She flicked it, and growled a little at me, but I stroked her nose, and hoped she knew she was staying somewhere safe.


Thanking them both profusely and glancing one last look at Bess, I walked out of the calming white examination room and back into the manic reception area. As soon as the door clicked shut, I felt a wave of pure relief wash over me, and I sighed loudly, utterly oblivious to the yapping and general chatter of the waiting room around me. The most colossal grin spread right across my face, I couldn't help it and I didn't care if they all thought I was nuts. It was as if every worry, stress and seemingly unsolvable problem of the last week had left my aura, crying a little 'oh' of happiness.

I looked over to the 'Cats and Small Animals' section.
A couple were sitting together with a wicker cat basket on the chair next to them. Gypsy and her owner had gone. Shame, I thought, it would have been nice to take her phone number. I hoped that Gypsy's lump hadn't been anything too serious.
The lady sat with her partner was looking at me, and had seen my euphoric face as I'd walked out of the examination room with an empty cat carrier.

'Good news?!' She asked me.

'Yes.' I said, and beamed at her.

I'd learnt it was like being part of a club, having a cat. Everyone wants to help as your rationality goes out of the window and your heart takes over. Cat-owners (or rather, cat-lovers) all understand that pain you go through when the little animal you are so used to having around the house; who eats the chicken you'd left out for dinner, leaves muddy paw prints on the windowsill, or dead mice under your bed, falls ill, or has a nasty accident. You see, when she was no longer able to prppp when I walked through the front door or curl into a ball on my lap as I watch television, stretching her claws out and spiking me through the fabric of my jeans, I had realised the lengths I would go to, to make her better again. 

Bess, home after the operation with her shaved and stitched up leg.
Getting all the love.

Bess is now back home, resting from her operation. It looks like it went really well. She has to stay in a large cage for a couple of weeks until the bone heals. But she is happy, and back to her old self again. Thank you to everyone who sent their kind thoughts to us and offered help; you made such a difference. If you would like to find out more about RSPCA Putney Animal Hospital, and the brilliant work they do, click here to visit their website.

Last Friday

I remember last Friday, I'd woken up to the sun streaming through my windows. I usually wake up at around 6:35am, but because I'd washed my hair the night before, I allowed myself that extra fifteen minutes in bed, which had made all the difference. As I stretched myself out in the double bed, I thought it felt a little too roomy, it was definitely time for Liam to come back home. He'd been away for the week with work, and his flight arrived in Heathrow just after lunch, so I'd taken a half day off work so I could meet him.
I lay there looking about the room, thinking of my half day prospects, and what I might choose to do with them. It was so quiet and beautifully bright, and since I'd left the window slightly open, a cool breeze drifted through the room. My stirring had woken the cat, who prrped and jumped onto the bed, padding about the duvet, before finally resting herself on my stomach, purring loudly.
I was in such a good mood. I hoofed the cat off the bed, and pulled the curtains right back, and began to get ready for work.
I never thought to put the television or the radio on. I'm usually having to be quiet, feeling my way through my wash bag to find my moisturier in the dark of our room, or only half blow-drying my hair in the living-room so as not to wake Liam who leaves for work a little later than me. I also didn't get the chance to pick up the newspaper on the tube, all because I'd been so leisurely in walking to Southfields tube, enjoying this rare bright March morning. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, in fact, London felt less dirty, and more chirpy this morning in general.


Walking out of Green Park station, I turned right, following the swarm of people streaming down and turning off various side roads, as usual everyone was absorbed in getting to work as fast as possible; their minds seemed absent from their bodies, which dived in and out of the crowd, dancing sidesteps around different kinds of obstacles.


Man with briefcase stuck out too far.
Luminously-clad newspaper guy.
Woman with buggy - much too slow.
Girl absorbed with texting.
Scaffolding.
Delivery man unloading barrels of beer.
Older lady tottering in too-high-shoes.
Oops. Crate of wine.
Pause to let him through.
Quick steps to catch up.
Cross the road - timed perfectly to miss that bike.


It was like a choreographed dance routine they performed for themselves each day. But Friday I felt different. And to prove I was different, I walked slowly. I looked up to the sky, and admired the blue. It struck me that I rarely looked higher than a few paving stones in front of me. As I looked up, I could see I was interrupting their dancing. I was the obstacle. And I quite liked it. Being the one who was different felt good. And because I behaved differently, I noticed the things I wouldn't usually see. I reached the corner of my road - the one I always turn right into - and I stopped.


Green Park had caught my eye. It was the trees in the park - just a little way off - and how the sunlight shone through all the tiny little leaves, which blew together in the breeze and all merged into a glittery green mass. The trunks of the trees looked silvery, and I thought the way they bent and twisted looked just beautiful. Call me a hippy, but I felt like running over to hug one.
I stood still for longer than a moment, wishing I lived closer to the woods, the sea, green country fields and fresh air. Sometimes you just get zapped into the concrete world of London for too long, and it takes just a different head space to remind you of what you are missing.
I pulled myself away from the view, and turned off right, my view: the familiar high buildings with hundreds of glass windows lining the roads that lead to my office.

I started up my computer as usual, sipped my cup of tea and flicked automatically to BBC world news website. I had avoided media, quite by accident all morning, but it was suddenly loud and clear in front of me: an earthquake had hit off shore Japan.
I stared at the screen not quite believing it. Devastating evidence of a grand scale natural disaster filled page after page across the internet. As I replayed the videos of the tsunami hitting the coast, I saw pictures of fathers searching for their wives and family homes. Homes made of sturdy bricks and wood which had vanished completely in only a couple of hours - consumed easily by the waters. I felt so far away from the moment only ten minutes before, when I'd stood admiring the beauty of a green, leafy park on a sunny day, and my quiet moment felt quite fickle, somehow. Nature continued to prove to us it is well beyond our control, and the world continues to remind us we live here amongst all things; no more important - and no less. I imagined I was feeling just like so many people all around the world at that very moment, and for the second time that morning, I fell quiet.






Sunshine

Looking outside the window, it's just beautiful blue skies, and sparkly reflecting sunshine off building tops and metal roofs. It's Friday. I've got a chest infection. And I'm staying in my bed. I just think to myself; what a good think it is, that I live on the 4th floor of a block of flats, and all I can see from my windows (apart from an inch or two of the Audi garage round the corner's roof) are these blue skies. Well, it's cheered up my morning, and it's lifted my spirit.
I love sun.

I'm not one of these put-oil-on-and-frazzle-like-bacon on the beach, sun worshippers... I respect my skin too much. I suppose I'm like a little flower.

I lift my head, and all my colours shine when the sun comes out.

It's uplifting; sunlight produces Endorphins - natural brain hormones -  which make us happy. FYI: So does eating chocolate, exercise, sex and smiling...

I like it best when my room is full of sunshine, everything is beautiful. It reflects of the mirrors, shines through my crystals on my coffee table - catching hundreds of rainbows - and draws our attention upwards. 

It's rare during November that we look upwards. When it rains, we look down. When it's cold we tuck our noses in our scarfs, and concentrate on just moving quickly. But bring out the sun, and suddenly everyone comments on the beauty around us, the way the dew sparkles on the lawn, and nature is brought up close and personal in our lives.