Urban poetry

Lunch in a park near my hotel.

The headstones along the wall behind the man are a common site in English parks. It means that the park used to be a churchyard or cemetery and the land has now been repurposed. The headstones have historical value, so they leave them there, propped up against the walls.

You sometimes see the same thing in graveyards that haven't been converted. It might be because they simply ran out of space at some point in the past, and old headstones were removed to make room for new ones. Or another churchyard nearby may have been abandoned and its headstones were moved to one that is still active.

They usually didn't move the bodies, however. So even though the headstones are moved out of the way, you're still eating lunch in a graveyard.

Guarding the guards

There were several police officers with big guns patrolling the crowds before the parade began—although most of the guardsmen were also armed, I suppose they needed to focus on marching rather than identifying threats.

But I loved that there were also several “ceremonial wardens,” standing by. I'm not sure what they do, but I love the job title.

Changing of the guard

I honestly don't remember if I've ever seen the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace—maybe once or twice if I happened to be passing by, and I doubt I stayed for the whole thing.

But I enjoyed the Windsor version, even though it was crowded and I didn't have a clear view. Also, it was maybe fifteen minutes from hearing the first drumbeats up the High Street to the last red jackets disappearing inside the castle. I'm not a big fan of parades in general, so consider brevity a virtue.

Somebody's watching me

You do sometimes feel like the castle buildings are just always there. Here, behind a group of buildings by the river (under a truly ominous sky) and later that afternoon, behind the fountain commemorating Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee, across from the Alexandra Gardens.

Castle askew

Another photo of the castle, but without correcting for the usual lens distortions.

I'm feeling a little like that castle. I got home Wednesday afternoon, and though I managed nine hours of sleep last night and am more or less back on Eastern Daylight time, four weeks away almost immediately following the eleven day road trip has me quite discombobulated. Too many things to catch up on, and not enough functioning neurons to handle them. I did the easy stuff—laundry and groceries—yesterday; today I'm going to finish going through the mail, make some doctor's appointments, and start some insurance claims for cancelled hotels. At least that's the plan.

Windsor Castle

According to the official website, Windsor Castle is the oldest and largest occupied castle in the world. I'm sure that's true, but my favorite thing about it is that it actually looks like a castle, or at least like a castle as I imagined them when I was a child. It sits at the top of a hill along the high street, and seems to stretch on forever, and you can see the various towers in the distance all over the city.

I went there many years ago, and wasn't tempted to buy a ticket yesterday. It was a beautiful day, and I was happy to walk through the city, watch the swans on the Thames, sit in the Alexandra Gardens and read, and enjoy the castle from the outside.

Windsor

Queen Victoria surveying her Empire from the front of Windsor Castle.

I'm not supposed to be here; I'd planned to be in Yorkshire, seeing Haworth Parsonage and York Minster. But a case of appendicitis that turned out not to be appendicitis derailed everything.

I'm fine, but I was under doctor's orders to stay in Oxford just in case, and I couldn't have handled wrestling all of my luggage on and off of the three trains it takes to get to Haworth anyway. So I'm in Windsor and flying home tomorrow, and longer explanations will have to wait.

In the meantime, this statue is so well placed that wherever you are on Peascod Street, the pedestrian mall full of shops and restaurants heading downhill from the castle, the queen appears to be watching—and judging.

Maybe you really don't need that sultana scone after all.

Sunday bird blogging

This wood pigeon in the front quad at Merton was obviously very proud of that big stick.