to London

Dogwood leaves changing colour. Frome, 11 October 2021.

I'm off to London for an overnight: going to a piano recital at Wigmore Hall (Alexander Ullman), staying with Kyli, dropping in on Yaqoob tomorrow and then home. 

London is a different country: more sharply seen that way after travelling so little abroad recently. I know it's a different country because of everything provincial that I temporarily empty from my backpack: tape measure, ruler, thermos, secateurs. And I change all my clothes.

I imagine I'll read a lot on the train and in cafes, though I probably won't-- I'll be writing postcards and walking. I pack Lisa Samuels' Tender Girl, because I'm learning that it needs to be read in a deep way, the longer immersion the better; you can't just dip in and out. Then, having emptied out so much, I thought I had room to hedge my bets, so I packed David Copperfield as well.

It's a beautiful October morning, the Norway maples beginning to startle, the poplars thinning, the dogwood leaves turning that indescribable cocoa tinge. Stopping to photograph them, I meet Sue walking her three dogs; we were workmates at a local quarry company twenty years ago. I wonder if there are chance meetings in Hyde Park too?

Lucky I'm in no hurry. A points failure down the line means a half-hour delay on the platform at Frome, and now I'm zigzagging to Bath, my intended connection at Westbury having long gone. I'm assured my ticket will still be honoured, though it's only supposed to apply to routes via Newbury. So I get to see the splendid autumn colour of this young Manna Ash:

On the platform at Bath I quickly run through the day's Duolingo stint (Swedish), until I run out of hearts. I've read three chapters of TG, plus an unscheduled poem by Michael Drayton, written a postcard, and now I've taken out DC. We're pulling into Reading. In about twenty minutes London won't be imaginary any more.

Having done the honours of his house in this hospitable manner, Mr. Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful of hot water, remarking that 'cold would never get his muck off.' He soon returned, greatly improved in appearance; but so rubicund, that I couldn't help thinking his face had this in common with the lobsters, crabs, and crawfish -- that it went into the hot water very black and came out very red.