Like Sundays long ago

On the Canal path from Angel heading East running is proving popular as is cycling. Ringing bells can be heard every 100 yards or so. Two very serious looking men are canoeing. On the first stretch of the canal, gardens of big Georgian townhouses gently slope towards the water. Further up, they gives way to high-rise flats and new apartment blocks. Their cluttered balconies hang over the canal checking out their reflection in the murky water. Bikes on balconies like smokers at a party, sent out to smoke in the cold.

We make our way to Hoxton Street which isn’t far by canal. The towpaths are like secret passageways weaving through the city, taking you the quick route to your destination. It’s a cold grey day, lifeless trees along our path, branches outstretched like ancient arms reaching for spring. In this part of the city it feels like Sunday used to feel long ago. The streets are half deserted, shutters on shops, lights out in pubs, but every now and then we’ll see a well lit café teaming with life. People huddled inside to escape the winter. Inside the closed doors of the White Cube gallery men paint the walls white with rollers on long sticks. Outside a café advertising ‘breakfast club’, stand a queue of kids in their early twenties. It is packed inside. No idea what’s going on in there, surely they’re not just queuing for breakfast? No time to find out, we continue our walk.

Off Chiswell street there’s a football match going on. It’s not the kind of place you expect to see a huge stretch of grass. A secret garden, hidden from the main road by buildings, and only visible to us from behind gates down a side street. The shouting of the players echos out against the silence of the city.

On the road towards Angel the streets are grey and deserted, buildings part way through demolition. The lights are on in the tailor’s shop. Inside the glow of the shop the tailor is cutting two slices of cake on top of his counter, which he shares with a man, either his assistant or a customer. Let’s say a customer.

Inspired, we buy a Victoria sponge in the bustling area of Upper Street and head home to watch Columbo.

Another Bee in the Bonnet

How are the new year's resolutions going? Yes, me neither. I like new year's resolutions though, like the start of a new year. It's good to shake off the old one. 2010 was good though. I think I've got about seven resolutions. The only one I've done anything about yet is Photography, I've enrolled on a course that starts in the summer. The course states it's for people with some knowledge of Photography. So I better get revising before then, I don't know what half the functions on my camera do. But it will be good to learn to take some decent pictures. I take about 200 photos on holiday and end up with around 3 good ones. It's hard to take good photos of people though, because as soon as they see the camera they pull a stupid face.

The thing with resolutions and focussing is that lesser ideas nag at me. For instance last weekend I got a bee in the bonnet about watching the IT Crowd, you know that programme that's always on. However, it wasn't showing all weekend so the idea grew. Then Adam posted on Facebook that he was spending the evening watching the IT Crowd. This was written in a kind of, 'I wish I was going out enjoying myself but I'm too tired,' kind of way. But by this time the option had grown in my mind as the best thing you could possibly do. I decided to check out HMV in Hampstead to see what episodes were available, how much, etc. I got there to find the shop had closed down. This created an incredible need in me and the second I finished work I rushed to Oxford Street and bought the first three series. The bee in my bonnet was resolved. Apparently this phrase originated from the saying 'to have bees in ones head'.

I'm feeling the pinch, my pockets are empty and the bees in my head have to be ignored.