Window shopping

On the bus (coming back from Tate Modern’s Edvard Munch exhibition; lots of angst but no Scream) I spotted this man outside an Afro-Caribbean hair and beauty shop on Peckham’s Rye Lane. When I later zoomed into the photo I saw that some products are made by Fair & White or Soft ‘n’ White; there’s even a Whitening Cream, which I thought was illegal. I like the photograph, not sure about the products.

Babee!

Street photography is not without incident. In a mid-Welsh town I snapped this gentleman (let’s call him Danny). Later I saw him go into an alley where he bent down and undid the dog’s lead. Was this to facilitate toileting? Next thing, the dog is running out of the alley towards me. ‘Catch her,’ bellowed Danny, shaking a stick at me. I’d noticed that the dog had black things (worms?) around its bottom and I was not keen to get close. Besides there was no lead to grab hold of, only the dog’s collar. ‘What’s her name?’ I asked. ‘Babee. Catch her!’ So, I took off down the road, calling ‘Babee, Babee’ and each time I drew level, the corgi waddled off. When it ran into the road, I felt it was time to leave as Danny shouted at someone else: ‘Catch her!’ Next day the man on sticks, pipe clamped between teeth, the dog on lead set off once more…

Ordinary people soon to eat cake

Are you one of the ‘ordinary people’? This term is increasingly used to distinguish us from greedy, immoral, cynical (le mot de jour) bankers. We, the ordinary people (doesn’t seem long ago we were described always as ‘consumers’) have become steadily more upset by the perfidy of the masters of the universe. But, surely, consolation is at hand for soon (forsooth) they may feel the lash of a silk tie… prison sentences, fines and dishonour may follow. And, then, we shall eat cake. Because simple pleasures do us.

God and Country

The Rye Lane Chapel in Peckham appears to advocate turning not only to Christianity but to royalty in our battle to avoid sin. In any case, the image of the Queen, like an infinite granny, is quite cheering.

Dogs, balls, poo

People in Peckham like to do it large. And, so do their dogs. A friend’s dog is known as Two-Balls Alfie because he’s only happy if walking with two balls in his mouth. One winter morning as I crossed Peckham Rye I saw a woman scooping up her dog’s poo into a plastic bag. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘what a way to start the day.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it warms your hands up.’

City foxes

Here is a pic taken through a rainy window of Mrs Fox and three of her four cubs posing in my south London garden. Their den is under the shed, and so deep is the tunnel, it looks a little wobbly. One day a month ago, urged on by my friend Phil Polglaze, I blocked the entrance to the den, so as to encourage the frolicking family to move on. That evening Mrs Fox and a cub arrived home only to find it blocked. She looked so dejected and even (anthropomorphism gone mad) embarrassed in front of her offspring. Of course, I unblocked the entrance and all slept well that night. Now, as you can see, the youngsters are practically teenagers so will be off looking for their own pads soon, I hope. 

Queen Jean

This is Jean. She has lived on this street since the 1930s, her entire life. As a young woman Jean was badly injured in a road accident, and since then her legs haven’t functioned normally.  Jean was already quite old when I got to know her, and had become housebound except for her weekly jaunt to the hairdressers who kept her hair red as a raspberry. Recently, following a spell in hospital she moved to a care home. For our jubilee party, kind neighbours whisked her back to the street where she performed the ribbon cutting ceremony. I think she bears an uncanny resemblance to the ageing monarch Elizabeth I. Do you agree?