Remembering Mrs Farrell.

Mrs Farrell taught me English at the Harris Middle School.

She, and she alone, struck fear into pupils, as she would insist on perfect study conditions in class, and everyone obeyed.

Mrs Farrell not only taught me English, she taught my Mother when the school was an all girls establishment, andRoman Hill was the boy's school.

On the occasion of the first parent-teacher evening, Mum was confrnted with a monster from her past, and one who remembered her, despite it being some twenty years or so previously.

Mre Farrell remember Mum's first name, and in about twenty seconds, the family name too, and what kind of student Mum was as well.

Mrs Farrell only taught me two years, but things she taught me have stayed with me forty five years.

1. The first sentence is the most important. The chance for the writer of author to grab the readers' attention.

2. Never ever use the words "nice" and "pretty".

3. Never use the same verb in a paragraph. Avoid repition.

I have mentioned this to Jools over the years, and she follows them too.

I guess Mrs Farrell is long gone now, but I am sure she would be pleased to know some things got through my skull into my brain, and her job wasn't hopeless after all.

Sunday 1st December 2024

It is fair to say what with one thing and another, we were pooped on Sunday.

My back needed a rest for one, and Jools could not get a decaf coffee for love or money, so had full strength in the morning, two of, and thought it would be out of her system by bed time.

But was not.

So, she did not sleep well.

I slept like a log, even covered in cats. Or cat.

We got up at half seven, had a coffee, put Radcliffe and Maconie on, and so the morning passed.

It was a cold, gloomy day, a day for sitting beside the fire. Or radiator, nursing a hot brew and watch other folks run round.

Just as well there was football on, then.

So, after bacon butties for lunch, I sat on the sofa beside Scully to watch the Chelsea v Villa game. I missed most of the first half, and when awake I could hear Jools gentle snoring from upstairs.

I was awake by four, and the "big showdown": Liverpool v Citeh.

Citeh couldn't be that bad again, could they? Yes. Yes they could. At least in the first half, and in total really only had a couple of tame shots on goal in the 90 minutes, with Virgil keeping the lad Haarland very quiet.

2-0 to Liverpool.

And pizza for supper, with a beer.

Then early to bed as I had an early start in the morning for breakfast.

Saturday 30th November 2024

A day out in London of a Saturday morning requires planning. Jools arranged for shopping to be dropped on Thursday afternoon, meaning we did not have to go on Saturday morning.

Then setting alarms so that we got to Priory station at half seven ready for the quarter to eight train.

Jools went to get tickets, and I went to the corner greasy spoon to get sausage and bacon sticks and brews. So that when the train rolled at twenty to, we climbed on board, sitting at a table and starting on our breakfast.

Leaving at that time meant it was already light, so we could see the countryside rolling by until we got to Ashford, then flash by once we got on the high speed line, zooming up to Ebbsfleet and then under the Thames into Essex and on to Stratford.

We got out at Stratford, caught the DLR to the regional station, then changing DLR lines for the trains heading for Lewisham.

At Pudding Mill Lane, where we used to watch steam tours on the Great Eastern Main Line, a new station has been built to allow for the entrances to the Elizabeth Line tunnels, and next door is the Abba theatre.

We have been talking about going, so Jools checks prices for the show, and amazed that some are nearly £200! Prices next June are £99, but still for seeing a video recreation rather than the band themselves.

The train rattled on, turning south where the old Bryant and May match factory used to be. The building is still there but seems to be business units or flats now.

Passing the old factory used to be the cue for my Granddad to get us standing up and gathering our coats and bags as we were five minutes from Liverpool Street.

Instead, we took the line south through Bow and towards the crystal towers of Docklands and Canary and other Wharves.

I texted Graham to say we were on our way, and he replied to say he was 5 minutes from Canary Wharf. I said we would be there in a few minutes, maybe we would meet there?

Through Poplar and into the 21st century hellscape that is Docklands, we get off on platform 1, and our next train is waiting on platform 2. Jools walks over, I lag behind, scouring the platform for Graham.

Then as I reach the doors, and the electronic bleeps announcing departure, Graham reaches us and comes on board.

Doors close and the train departs, taking tight turns around the skyscrapers before heading to the river, and after Mudschute, dives under the river for Greenwich.

We get off at Cutty Sark, so named after a tea clipper, and find the way out signed to a flight of 125 steps to street level.

I sigh and follow Jools and Graham up, regretting my life choices.

But I made it to the top, and a short walk we called in at a coffee shop for a refill and wait for the Cutty Sark itself to open.

Although the story of the Cutty Sark and the other tea clippers is very interesting, I wanted to come for purely photographic reasons, to snap the prow and the glazed roof that protects the old dry dock.

We pay to go on, and enter the ship, going up two flights of steps onto the deck, where the masts and rigging tower high above. Remember, sailors used to have to climb up these and gather in sails, and all weathers and on all seas, no matter their state.

Hardy buggers.

Cabins were small and on deck, as all space down below was for cases of tea only, to keep them dry and in perfect condition.

Then down through the visitor centre to the bottom of the dry dock, and the copper bottom of the ship, suspended so that shots looking along and up the prow could be taken.

Which I took plenty of.

Above the roofs of the shops and pubs,the tower of the parish church, St Alphage, Greenwich, which is an usual dedication, but turns out this was the site where the titular Saint was martyred in the 11th century.

Graham had never found it open, but I had checked online and it was due to open at eleven, ten minutes ago. So we walked towards the church, dodging through the traffic and arrived at the church gate.

The south doors were closed, as were the north, so I began to doubt myself. But a nearby sight indicated that the main entrance was on the south side, so we went back round.

And one of the doors was indeed ajar.

Bingo.

Bango.

Bongo.

We climbed the steps and went in, and were met my quiet the most friendly and informative volunteer I think I have ever met.

Interesting details were pointed out, and those hidden were shown, including the location of the font where King Henry XIII was christened, and the last surviving part of the second church's wall.

The church, which is after Hawksmoor, is a delight, though gutted during the blitz, so most glass is now lost, though the Victorian is of good quality.

We were here for the Mars display in the Painted Hall at the Greenwich Naval College.

We have been here before, but some 15 years back at least, so a return was overdue, though the sumptuous painting would be partly hidden by the 7m model of the planet Mars.

We have seen the artist's Moon work at the Maritime Museum nearby, but also in Denver back in 2017. But seemed to have missed his "Earth", I'm sure it'll come round again.

We walked through the college grounds, into the painted hall, exchanged vouchers for tickets and climbed the two sets of stairs into the hall itself.

The view opened out, and the first impression was amazing, Mars at the far end, suspended and slowly turning, with the painted hall as a background. And a helmeted Mar looking down at the planet named after him, a great juxtaposition.

We took and hour to take it all in, then talked about going to the Chapel, which we were not sure was open.

At the base of the stairs, we found the entrance to a passageway, with sign pointing to the Chapel, could this lead all the way under the formal gardens?

Yes. Yes it could. And did.

Up spiral staircases to the lobby, then up a formal stairway flanked by statues of Faith, Hope, Charity and Meekness, into the church, a delight, without much in the way of painting to match the hall opposite, but stunning all the same, and few folks had made it over, so we soaked up the building and details, and fittings.

Time was getting on, and thoughts turned to food. So, we left and headed out to the narrow path beside the river, where high tide meant water was lapping at our feet, but we powered back towards the High Road, and the cluster of pubs and other eateries.

Beside the Cutty Sark was the Gipsy Moth pub, but that was full, so we walked on and found a table beside the fire in the Spanish Galleon, a Shepherd Neame's pub, but they had tables and a great looking menu.

We got pints of Whitstable Bay, and ordered burgers each, all in a great end to the trip where we did all we set out to do, and now rounded it off with a pub lunch.

We ate the burgers with pints of Bishop's Finger, now a timid 5.2% rather than the 7% in days of yore, but still full of flavour.

Time to go home. Back to Cutty Sark DLR station, down in the lift this time, and straight on a train heading north. Change at Canary Wharf, where our train to Stratford was also waiting.

We said goodbye to Graham, hopped on, and the doors closed, so we moved off north.

Back at Stratford, down the steps to the concourse, and straight onto a train going to the International Station, we got on, and so were on the platforms for Kent a full ten minutes before the train was due.

When it came, there were a few seats, so I got to sit and rest by back after the 11,000 steps done, so while darkness fell outside, I kept up to date with the football, Norwich 2-2 with Luton at half time, but scoring twice in the second half to win 4-2, and make it 12 goals scored in three games over seven days.

By the time final whistle went, we were back home, and supping fresh brews as we rested, taking our shoes off.

A brilliant day out.

The West Ham fans we had seen on the DLR were going to their home game against Arsenal, which was on TV at half five. Not the game they were hoping for, as Arsenal were 5-2 by halftime, though no more goals scored in the second half, but worthy of that first half to have watched.