Gloria Bee

My cold continues and I feel wiped out. I’ve spent the day doing more research for the London film; chatting to all sorts of interesting people and learning some astonishing facts. In between the bits of research, I've been going through all my photographs of gravestones to create a word document which features the best inscriptions. The plan is to send this out to various friends to see what they think. I did something similar on the Lincolnshire project. A straw poll of close friends gives a strong sense of what works and what doesn’t. We all know that there’s a very fine line between something that is genuinely touching and something that would better suit a Clinton greetings card - or an episode of Countdown. I think I must have photographed close to 500 gravestones, so this is going to be a very slow process!


I'm about to take myself out for a little run. I'm worried that my cold-infused legs could give up half way round, so I think I’ll run repeatedly around the block until I either get bored or collapse.

I wish I could say that there was something more interesting to write about. Nathan and I find ourselves endlessly amused by the trials and tribulations of our little mason bee, who we’ve christened Gloria Bee. She's been sniffing around the telly again, and this morning I found her sitting on a towel on my washing basket. The kitchen window was closed, so she’d obviously been inside the house for some time. She looked exhausted; half dead. We put her on the window ledge, and Nathan suggested dripping a few little blobs of honey near her, which he assures me is something that bees eat. It seemed to do the trick. Gloria Bee immediately wandered towards the honey, and started to eat it, or drink it, or whatever bees do with a delicate little tube-like thing. She ate for a while and then vanished... I hope she’s flown off – regenerated... Go pollinate our flowers, Gloria Bee!

350 years ago, Pepys went to Westminster via a boat which he took from the Tower of London. The boat had enormous problems “shooting the bridge;” riding the dangerous rapids that formed underneath it. Pepys was forced to get out and wait whilst another boat was called in to help. A popular proverb at the time went, “London Bridge was made for wise men to go over and fools to go under.” Nearer Westminster, the Thames was full of boats. A race was being held – probably a rowing race to Chelsea – but as soon as it began, the boats “fell foul one of another,” there was a tussle and a row, one of the boats went off in a huff and the race, and fun was called off. Boo! Gloria Boo!