DRIFTING STILL

Just so you know, I’m keeping on walking – in accordance with government guidelines, naturally.  There are lots of cats and birds just walking in the road – because there’s so little traffic.  There is also an increase in road kill – not cats, but pigeons, plus the occasional rabbit and hedgehog.

But how about this for a surprise – growing up in the road between the tarmac and the kerb – garlic!!  Or so I thought.  Greener people than me have suggested it's probably chives, and they're surely right.  But it does smell very garlicy.

So I don't know if it’s some wild variety or an escapee from somebody’s garden.  It smells great, and in general I believe in foraging but somehow gutter garlic or even gutter chives seems a bit unappealing.  Call me overdelicate.
                                                            *
And I talked to my neighbor a couple of days later - she tells me they're all escapees from her front garden - and she doesn't like the taste of chives!!

AWAY FROM THE RABBLE IN WRABNESS

The weekend before the start of the lockdown (aka Final Countdown of possibly The Big Gundown) we walked from Wrabness to Manningtree, part of the Essex Way, though we strayed from that route from time to time.  We knew that we'd strayed, we just didn't know how to get back on it.

There was plenty of social isolating going on, though dogs still have to be walked, children too, apparently.

There was all kinds of cool stuff; flotsam and/or jetsam

and a shipwreck

And of course things were already getting a bit frantic in the supermarkets, but there on the beach at Wrabness you could pick up an oyster or two and take it home for domestic enjoyment. What’s a good walk without a bit of foraging?  And the thing about foraging is – you don’t have to stand in a queue.

The guys in the pub at Mistley were obviously a bit sour:

And it took a surprisingly long time – four hours to walk 6 and a half miles. But once home the oysters did the job they were supposed to do.

THE DOG WALKER

In these troubled, self-quarantined times, reading a book seems like a very good idea, and although War and Peace beckons, there’s also an urge to dig out something that you haven’t looked at in a good many years.  And so I’ve found myself rereading The Dog Chairman, a collection of writings, some of them very short indeed, by Robert Robinson.  It’s a book I used to keep in my loo.

Robinson doesn’t get much respect these days.  If people remember him at all it’s likely to be because of his bad comb-over (are there any good comb-overs) and his tendency to be a clever dick, on programmes such as Brain of Britain, Stop the Week, and Call My Bluff.  He was also anything but inimitable, and he has been much imitated by everyone from the Not the Nine O' Clock news mob, to Fry and Laurie (seen at the top of the post) to Mitchell and Webb.  But I like his book a lot.

Back in the day I used occasionally to see him walking in the streets around Broadcasting House, and he was always wearing a hat, whether to hide the comb over or because he worried that the wind might ruin his comb over.

Anyway there’s a piece in The Dog Chairman titled ‘Watch Your Step’ – it’s a nice bit of people watching, observing how people walk.  ‘Top end of the social scale, people walk as though they aren’t walking anywhere in particular, bottom end of the scale, people walk as though they only had one destination.  Bottom end, people walk as though the movement were being rented rather than outright owned, top-end walks are always freehold.’  I think this is more or less true and he continues, ‘You can no more disguise your walk than your handwriting: I knew a ballet critic who’d been a policeman, and he always walked up the aisle at Covent Garden as though he were going to take Giselle’s name and address.’

         I like that.  But I do wonder who the policeman turned ballet critic was. How many can there be. Any ideas?  Or maybe just made it up.

WALKING THE IMMUNOLOGICAL SUPERHIGHWAY

And in further Covid-19 news (is there any other kind of news?) Dr Jenna Macciochi, an immunologist at Sussex University, says walking is good  because it ‘helps move our lymphatic fluid around the body.’ Who knew?  Well, no doubt a great many people, but not me.  

She adds, ‘Think of this like our immune cells superhighway enabling our immune cells to perform better surveillance.  And when you’re out walking … you are less likely to come into close contact with infected people.”

According to her website Dr. Macciochi  has over 20 years' experience 'as a scientist researching the impact of lifestyle on the immune system in health and disease.'  This is a picture on her website, it could well be her:

I think we can assume Dr Macchiochi is not a flaneuse, much less a woman of the crowd.

WALKING DANKLY

Walking in the rain is a funny business - sometimes literal, sometimes metaphoric, sometimes imbued with pathetic fallacy, and definitely, apparently, a thing to write songs about.

The one I think of first is ‘Just Walkin in the Rain’ the one made famous by Johnny Ray, written by Johnny Bragg and Robert Riley while they were in Tennessee State Prison. Bragg supposedly said, "Here we are just walking in the rain, and wondering what the girls are doing." Riley thought there was a song in it, and he was right.

Just walking in the rain
Getting soaking wet
Torturing my heart by trying to forget.

Then the Ronettes, ‘Walking in the Rain,’ later covered by Jay and the Americans and indeed the Walker Brothers.

Though sometimes we'll fight, I won't really care
And I'll know it's gonna be alright 'cause we've got so much we share 

Like walking in the rain (like walking in the rain) 

The song is attributed to Barry Mann, Cynthia Weli and Phil Spector.  I don’t imagine Phil ever did very muchwalking in the rain, what with the wig and all, but like Briggs and Riley, as he currently sits or walks in jail, there must surely be moments when he wonders what the girls are doing, though I’m not sure which girls.

And of course, ‘The Sky is Crying’ – many, many versions  - but originally by Elmore James

The sky is crying,
Can you see the tears roll down the street. 

Well, yes, sometimes you can, and t’other day I did. For no very good reason, except my ongoing fascination with suburbia, I went off for a walk in Highams Park, in north east London, and to be honest a large part of the attraction was that I knew I’d have the pleasure of walking down Hollywood Way.

As you see, it was sunny when I started out – and of course there was plenty in the area to look at.

gnomes (well, one gnome)

topiary and yuccas

fine bungalows 

an equally fine concrete shed

streamlined bay windows, which are always a favorite of mine

But as you also see in that last picture, I hadn’t done much drifting before the rain came down (see ‘The Day The Rains Came’ made famous by the somewhat less famous Jane Morgan  ‘The day that the rains came down/ Mother Earth smiled again.’ Well yes and no.

From time to time it would pelt down and I’d run under a tree – no pennies from heaven there - then it would stop for a bit and I’d walk on and it’d pelt down again. If I’d had a specific destination in place I’d have continued but since I was just wandering it wasn’t long before I’d had enough.  My point of return was De La Warr Court.

Now obviously when you see the name De La Warr you think of the De La Warr Pavlion in  very vaguely resembles. 

The pavilion was named after Herbrand Edward Dundonald Brassey Sackville, 9th Earl De La Warr, and the first hereditary peer to join the Labour Party.  If he has any connection with Highams Park, I’ve not been able to discover it.

Incidentally, Hollywood Way has one small point of interest, it was the childhood home of jazz man John Dankworth. There’s a plaque to that effect.

In the course of a long career he recorded plenty of songs about rain, including, many of them with Cleo Lane from ‘Come Rain or Come Shine,’ to ‘Singing in the Rain.’  Rather fewer songs about walking.  And I do hope this was his car, not just a prop for the album cover: