This picture shows a different aspect of Harrow, the shopping centre. Yes, we were in Harrow again today as Tigger was working there for the second day running. She left work at just after 1 pm and from then on the day was ours.
After lunch we took bus 114 to Ruislip. That was to be our outing for today.
We had been to Ruislip before, one evening. We had had dinner in a little Italian restaurant and when we emerged it was raining. As we made our way along the street to the station, the rain became heavier and heavier.
By the time we reached the tube station, we were so wet that we hung our coats on the hand-rail to dry, until the train became so crowded that we had to take them down.
Fortunately, the weather today was warm and sunny.
Like most modern towns, Ruislip is a mixture of the old and the new. There is something of a village atmosphere about the place without this being in any way to its detriment.
As in many old towns, the local Centre for Superstitious Nonsense makes its presence felt and tends to be visible from all angles. On the left, its tower peers over the roofs of some old houses now converted into offices and on the right, a coffin’s-eye view of the approach to the graveyard.
Old buildings are matched by the equally ancient game of bowls played on this rather splendid club green. Can you guess how much I wanted to join in? That’s right: not at all.
Manor Farm has a history dating back to before the Norman Conquest. It is no longer farmed and has been turned into an “amenity”. It’s all very clean and tidy and nice and not at all like a farm. Shame, really.
It is more like a theme park these days. The earnestness with which it has been converted almost jumps up and bites you.
This is the motte and bailey. That’s not a comedy double-act but the ruins of the old Norman castle that once stood here and kept the natives in check, though I think it would take an expert to distinguish it from your average hummock.
If you had been there you would have guessed which was my favourite bit. Yes, the farm duck pond. In addition to ducks, there was this charming family of moorhens with two fluffy youngsters. You could see that they were used to visitors by the way that they came paddling over hoping for food.
And finally, a couple of oddities. Don’t you think that “Grimstead” is a perfect name for an undertaker? It’s like something out of Dickens.
And how did this pub sign end up on a balcony above the shops? Maybe its the flat of a regular of The Swan who saved the sign in memory of happy days when the pub was demolished.
Just in case you are wondering, I wrote this in my usual way, in my text editor with HTML formatting. For now I have finished with blog editors. They are a waste of time.