Getting a Good Soaking

Daneville Road, London, SE5
In a hurry after a massive downpour, carrying a big framed picture under each arm, hoping to make my delivery before the next deluge…I just so happen to glance towards this tree trunk and am treated to a visual soaking instead.
I stop dead, struck by a burst of joy. Unable to continue my journey despite already being late; defenceless in the face of the pure gorgeousness that is now before me – the radiance of the rain-drenched bark and its vibrant patchwork of colours rioting with life and love.
My eyes pop, my brain sparkles, my heart expands. I balance the pictures on my feet so I can hold my camera.
Eventually I tear myself away. After all, I am supposed to be somewhere. But now my step is springier and my face is grinnier; all of me is buzzing with the elation of Amazingness.
Bonkers! I, Concur!

Clapham Road, London, SW9
Thump! Thud! Thump! All around me spiky seed pods fall fast from the wind-tossed branches above; most of them disgorge their gleaming, beaming insides on impact with the ground.
Luckily the wind dies down. I examine this lustrous, semi-disgorged inside – this beautiful conker – its smooth surface radiant under the glow of fresh autumn sunshine.
One-third remains cozy inside its protective jacket; full emergence is a tantalising possibility. I specify one-third, because today I discovered that a horse-chestnut seed pod splits along three seams and breaks apart into three symmetrical pieces to release its seed – not into two pieces as I had previously imagined.
I found so many gorgeous glistening glossy conkers today. I thought about playing conkers. And then I discovered that there is a World Conker Championship and that I could enter. In fact, anyone can enter, there are still places left. It takes place in two weeks time in Northamtonshire. All competition conkers are provided by the organisers to make sure there is no cheating by using artificially hardened ones – so all you need to arrive with is a competition outfit…!
In other World Conker Championship news: for the first time this year men and women compete against each other! Why they were ever segregated into separate men’s and women’s competitions I have no idea.
And finally, if you were in Leeds or Manchester last week you would have been able to pay for your car parking with conkers! One intact conker could be exchanged for 20 pence worth of parking, up to a maximum of £10. All collected conkers were then donated to a local nature reserve. Hopefully they hadn’t been collected from there in the first place!
Ceiling / No Ceiling

Morna Road (12), London, SE5
There certainly was a lot of rain last weekend. Some of it even came into our bedroom directly through the ceiling. I surprised myself by sleeping, despite the deep resonances of Drip; Drip; Drip; as each drop landed heavily into one of three large plastic containers.
Not to worry though. In the grubby gap between street and house where we keep our five large rubbish bins, a colourful flower pokes its head up through the cracks and dirt to smile at me as I arrive home during a downpour; so I smile back.
Happily for our leaking roof, there’s been lots of sunshine over the last few days, so last night we decided to dispense with any kind of ceiling altogether, and headed off on a Microadventure – as described here by Alastair Humphreys. Half an hour away, on the outskirts of London, we found a field, enjoyed the sunset, got into our sleeping bags, watched for shooting stars then fell asleep.
Luckily, there was no rain to fall on our ceiling-less heads, or into our ceilinged bedroom. And there is still a colourful flower to welcome us home.
Shining Star

Warner Road (6), London, SE5
The leaves on the trees are dancing in the breeze; occasionally a ray of sunshine sneaks through a fluttering gap.
Down below, a little seed bounces out of the shady darkness and into one of these glimmering rays. It becomes a beacon shimmering in the shadows and calls me to it.
It bungees back and forth. On its windswept journey to colonise new pastures/pavements it has become caught, stuck by the stickiness of a spider’s silky web.
Is this its journey’s end, or just an interlude? Will it manage to disentangle from the clutches of its elastic prison to wend its merry (flya)way once again? And if it does, will it one day find a favourable spot, and germinate into a beautiful new plant?
Field of Mossy Dreams

County Grove, London, SE5
Deep inside this little clump of moss I find myself filled with dreamy thoughts of cornfields and seaside sand dunes, as I wonder what it might be like to be a spider or a fly, visiting this miniature world located atop a brick wall on the side of a quiet back street in Camberwell, south London.
A Shadowy Existence

Newington Causeway, London, SE1
I’m not really the hot weather type, so I’ve taken to leading a shadowy existence during the current heat wave:
Taking cold showers;
Eating chocolate ice cream;
Drinking even more water than usual;
Sheltering on the shady side of everything (if there is one);
Taking advantage of the relative cool underneath every passing tree;
Admiring all the shadowy shapes decorating even the drabbest of walls.
Splodge

Knatchbull Road (2), London, SE5
Today I found myself being really attracted to these splodges. I love how they can be so easily mistaken for pieces of old, squished, chewed-up chewing gum littering the pavement but are in fact living lichen quietly going about the very important business of being alive.
Which came first, the sheep or the hedge?

Brockley Way, London, SE4
Is the sheep trapped in the hedge, or is the hedge trapped in a sheep?
As I contemplate this I realise that there is no sheep, and there is no hedge. Instead, there’s just a big fluffy rug in the middle of the pavement decorated with candy-coloured horse-chestnut flowers and other bits and pieces of tree. I pick up some of the white fluffy stuff for a feel. It’s so soft, like cashmere. I imagine having a big coat of fluff and flowers. I imagine feeling like a sheep on cloud 9. Or like a sheep trapped in a hedge on a hot day.
What is this fluffy stuff anyway? Where had it come from? I look up at the trees overhead. One of them had grown a pretend sheep and deposited it on the pavement in the middle of London. But which one? There were several candidates, all sporting fluff in their branches…but on closer inspection the fluff was always just nestling, not properly attached.
But there was one tree I couldn’t reach, its trunk and high branches safe beyond tall metal railings. I couldn’t see any fluff in its branches, but perhaps it had dumped it all before I came along, shaking its branches clean whilst planting some choice pieces of evidence on its neighbours in the process. The perfect crime.
So, like any good detective I continued my search for clues. I made my way to the other side of the railings, via a long path and a cemetery. I discovered that the ‘clean’ tree seemed to be at the epicentre of an extended ring of ground fluff. More importantly, I discovered a piece of twig that definitely originated from the ‘clean’ tree and was properly attached not only to fluff but also to some kite-shaped leaves with serrated edges. Poplar tree leaves! I recognised them!
Back at investigation headquarters I learnt that there are a number of species of Poplar tree, but one, the Black Poplar, produces significant amounts of soft white fluff on the scale of that which I found. Black Poplars are relatively rare in the UK. They have separate male and female trees, the females being the ones to produce the fluff – which has little black seeds attached. When the fluff doesn’t drop down in one big sheep, it helps the seeds get carried away by the wind to a place where they can hopefully germinate, providing it’s moist and quiet there, and they were lucky enough to have been fertilised by pollen from a nearby male Black Poplar tree…
I didn’t manage to get to the bottom of my question about the sheep and the hedge, but I did happen upon this excellent and fun explanatory animation answering the more commonly asked question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
