The joys of walking by the side of a canal

Regent's Canal, Victoria Park ©Heather James

'The Regent’s Canal is one of London’s best-kept secrets - a peaceful haven often hidden by the surrounding buildings, it offers a unique perspective on some of the capital’s urban landscapes.' Canal & River Trust

Sounds delightful doesn't it? We walked along a section of this very canal from Victoria Park to close to City Road just the other Sunday afternoon to go and visit friends of ours and give them a present for their new baby. Why use public transport we thought when walking would be so much healthier.

What started out as a pleasant afternoon stroll ended up feeling more like a slog up a mountain with two way traffic. In the past we have enjoyed an amble along the river Lea stopping for the occasional leisurely chat to someone who lives on a narrow boat about the joys of working in London while living in the countryside and then winding up in a pub.

On this occasion we spent far too much time getting out of the way of runners bent on improving their performance, cyclists who might well knock you into the canal rather slow down (and probably wouldn't notice if they had), fashionistas bellowing on their mobile phones while posing for photographs in the sunshine and parents pushing their small children along in prams built like tanks. This was not a pleasant experience so we decided to get the bus home and confine our walks along the canal to weekdays when everyone else is stressed out at work.

The day Heather met Heather

Just some of the material promoting all this art in the Medway

Long, long ago (back in the 1970s) I was a student at Bath Academy of Art. This was a small college with around 300 students which was partially housed in old Nissen Huts in the grounds of a Georgian house called Beechfield House. These huts were a legacy from WWII when the RAF was stationed there.

The ceramic studios were in the old coach house, the sculpture school had it's own hanger-like building in the grounds and the cafeteria won an architectural award. The library was housed in a gracious stately home called Corsham Court and many of us lived in charming 18th century workers cottages where the walls were not vertical and nor were the floors quite horizontal. I recall quite a number of students were based at Newton Park (another big house with sprawling grounds) who we never got to meet.

The time I spent there were certainly three formative years – the design principles I learned then still inform my design decisions today – but I do try to avoid viewing my student days there through rose tinted spectacles. It's very easy to recall the gorgeous peacocks strutting around the grounds at Corsham Court and to forget how hard I found the course work.

Rochester Castle from an alley

But, I do remember meeting a very nice student in the etching studio or maybe it was the print shop. This was Heather Haythornthwaite and she was into etching. So on Monday last, 17 March 2014, we finally met again when I paid a visit to her neck of the woods. She's still into etching in a big way and runs the Hazlenut Press out of her house. We had a blast chatting about old times and looking at her black and white photos of fellow students. I chucked out all of my work from college back in the early 80s which I don't regret except that I also threw out a small sketchbook I had made in bookbinding class and never actually drew in it and I was reminded of it while Heather showed me round her house.

Heather gave me a proper tour of some of the artistic charms of Rochester and Chatham starting at Café Maroc and I was staggered at the range of opportunities there are to practice as an artist in the Medway area. It's ironic that I live in Hackney, the London borough that has the most concentration of artists living and working in London, and I'm finding it difficult to get involved in Open Studios and regular exhibitions. Anyway, whingeing aside, Heather and I are looking forward to possibly doing some work together.

My walk home from Springfield Park

View from Springfield Park before the weather
took a turn for the worse ©Heather James

I had plans for yesterday that had to be rearranged on the fly so, after a bit of dithering, I decided to head up to Springfield Park just a few miles away. To save time I travelled by bus. When I set out the weather wasn't too bad but by the time I arrived the rain had settled in which wasn't conducive to the sketching trip I had in mind.

By now it was around lunch time so I went into the café to warm up and delay making a decision to either carry on with my plan or jack it all in and go home. Having eaten I felt fortified enough to explore the park and I spotted a shelter I could stand under so even though it was raining I reckoned it was worth unpacking my rucksack and getting stuck into at least one drawing which you can see above.

I found the view really interesting. It included part of the river Lea, some railway lines, swathes of green and trees coming into blossom. Unfortunately I couldn't explore this view for very long because the rain was driving into my shelter and the far distant horizon had turned from an interesting fuzzy grey with indistinct buildings to a blanket of dark grey with no visible features. There was only one thing for it: it was time to head for home.

Walthamstow marshes

I didn't feel like repeating the crowded bus journey with all the traffic hold-ups and passengers yelling at each other so I chose to walk back along the river. When I set out I realised that it must be five years or more since we had taken this route which I found astonishing. The walk home was about three miles and most of it was either along the river or along the Lea Navigation canal.

I was delighted to experience some sunshine along the way that was so warm I had to remove my hat, gloves and scarf. The sunshine brought out the gorgeous scent of some blossom that looked like Hawthorn flowers but seems rather early in the year since I gather it doesn't usually flower until May. I was less pleased when I had to put all these items of clothing back on and endure more cold, windy rain which increased the closer I got to home.

I was thrilled to watch some of the wild life living on Walthamstow marshes which is one of the last remaining wetlands in London. This is definitely somewhere I'd like to explore later in the year. I enjoyed looking at the maps on my route which look so new I suspect they are a legacy from the 2012 Olympics. I was amazed at the number of blocks of high rise flats that are rapidly replacing old industrial buildings – I can't imagine who will be able to afford to live in them. Most of all I enjoyed the peace and quiet of strolling along the river path and scrutinising the narrow boats moored nearby. Some of them looked so fancy they might be featured in a glossy magazine and some of them looked so dilapidated I hope no-one has to call them home.

It was so tranquil I thought I was in the countryside

Retaining a sense of freedom

Our local garden centre, Growing Concerns, that looks, from
the outside a bit like a prison

I haven't been very well during the last few days so have felt too languid to do anything very much. I have though managed to pick up, and begin to read, a small volume called Life at Grasmere, by Dorothy and William Wordsworth. It's part of a series called English Journeys and is published by Penguin.

It is a combination of journal entries by Dorothy and her brother, William's poetry written while they lived at Dove Cottage in the Lake District. The book opens 14 May 1800. Dorothy would have been 29 years old and William 30. George III was on the throne and England was embroiled in the Napoleonic Wars with the French which led to hard times for many people. Dorothy and William were very attached to each other but it would seem that Dorothy spent much of her time in her own company.

Dorothy occupied herself with household tasks, mending, working in the garden, reading and attending church. She would very often go for walks, helping herself to plants that took her fancy, take them home and plant them in her own garden! You can just imagine how that would go down in our culture – she would be charged with vandalism. For example on 28 May she tells us: "In the morning walked up to the rocks above Jenny Dockeray's, sate a long time upon the grass, the prospect divinely beautiful. ··· I went into her garden and got white and yellow lillies, periwinkle, etc., which I planted."

On 3 June: "Tuesday. I sent off my letter by the Butcher. A boisterous drying day. I worked in the garden before dinner. Read R[ichar]d Second – was not well after dinner and lay down. Mrs Simpson's grandson brought me some gooseberries. I got up and walked with him part of the way home, afterwards went down rambling by the lake side – got Lockety Goldings, strawberries etc., and planted."

Winding rapidly forward to 2014. I recently acquired two new plants. One of them is called Heartsease and the other is Horseradish. I bought them at a garden centre not unlike the one shown above. I am an inexpert gardener but I do enjoy a visit to a garden centre because they are treasure troves of things I do not need, but enjoy looking at, like outdoor furniture that needs more space to show it off than our small garden has. Since these businesses are chock full of valuable commodities they clearly need protecting so it can feel a bit like entering a bank vault. This made me think of other areas in our lives which are also quite constrained.

Of course our population is enormous compared with 200 years ago. It was estimated in 1801 that the population of England and Wales was about 8.9 million while the population of London in 2011 was about 8.1 million. With so many people competing for scarce resources it's no wonder we've ended up keeping to footpaths instead of roaming free, living our lives to strict timetables and conforming socially. It's just easier to do that but once in a while I like to remember that I do have a degree of freedom that I like to express in the art that I make.

A series of three

Sketches developed from photos after a walk along the bank of the river Tyne

We spent last weekend in Corbridge, Northumberland on a family visit. This area of the country is used to extreme weather conditions particularly at this time of year. However, while the south-west of the country was drowning under vast quantities of water, this part of the north-east was enjoying an early, if rather chilly, spring.

We had the time to relish a muddy walk along the banks of the river Tyne and observe huge numbers of snowdrops which, because they tend to grow in woodland, we never get to see where we live in London. We also made friends with a Beagle puppy who was great fun and showed a lot of interest in our picnic lunch much to the embarrassment of his owner.

I had high hopes of sketching outside while we were on our outing but it really was too windy so I took some photos on my camera phone and worked them up in the comfort of a cosy living room. I was trying out a combination of Inktense pencils, watercolour pencils and crayons on watercolour paper and this is the result.

These days Corbridge is a quiet and affluent village just a few miles away from Hexham and close to Hadrian's Wall. It is sited very near the most northern point of the old Roman Empire and during the time of the Roman occupation it was a very important garrison town and its name was Corstopitum. English Heritage maintains the archaeology that has been revealed after numerous digs over many years. We spotted one family on their way to explore the site and since it is off the beaten track they very likely had the place to themselves.

Our walk took us to the bridge at Corbridge. My sketch really doesn't do it justice. The present bridge was built in the 17th century and is made from stone. It is currently undergoing much needed renovation and because of its narrow width it is single carriageway so car traffic has to take turns in crossing it from the north bank to the south bank and vice versa. In 1881 the bridge was widened by three feet so it must have been extremely narrow before that. This bridge was so well built that it was the only bridge over the Tyne that withstood the famous flood of 1771. This bridge replaced a previous one that had been constructed in 1235 and and was described in 1306 as the only bridge between Carlisle and Newcastle. It was also maintained as an important link between England and Scotland. If Scotland chooses independence this September the bridge might become important again!

The Surrey Hills

The Weir by the Bridge, Tilford, Surrey – acrylic on paper
©2001 Heather James

I regard London, the capital of the United Kingdom, as my home. I have lived here since my 23rd birthday so that is a lot more than half my life. I find it a vibrant and interesting city where there is always something going on and there are also quiet, serene places too, for instance in my living room right at this moment.

I have to admit though that in one respect it is a bit dull. The terrain is mainly flat until you get up to Hampstead in the north and it is largely built on clay that has a lot of underground springs in it which makes it difficult to dig if you have a garden. There is, however, some interesting common land left to explore on foot that can't be built on. The Surrey Hills on the other hand are quite different. Just south of London there exists this fascinating area largely made from chalk which is designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty including some areas which are of Special Scientific Interest.

House in Tilford ©Heather James

I can remember my father telling me that when he was a boy scout in the 1930s he would leave his home in south London and go camping and cycling in Surrey at weekends. It was close enough to home to get to easily and far enough away for you to feel transported to another place. You could journey by tube train and bus -  you can see an example of a poster advertising this type of jaunt here - or travel all the way by train from either Waterloo or Victoria stations. Box Hill is a popular destination for cyclists and walkers and is very close to the highest point in southern England, Leith Hill.

Waverley Abbey

I spent a couple of days this week visiting friends who live in Tilford near Farnham. I've often visited this village over the last 20 years and occasionally done some drawing and painting. One place I would like to return to is the ruins of Waverley Abbey. This site is walking distance from Tilford so long as you don't mind risking being run over by drivers of Land Rovers or BMWs - pedestrians are an unknown species in this part of the world. The monastery at Waverley was the first Cistercian house to be established in Britain and it was founded in 1128 and like many sites of historical interest it deserves more than one visit to really appreciate it.

While I can never imagine wanting to live in the Surrey Hills many people do and I had a friend who, for a while, rented a converted barn here and the drawing below is the view from there.

Revisiting old friends

View from the churchyard of the Downland Church of the Transfiguration Pyecombe 2008

I've had a yen to develop this sketch into a painting for a long time. This morning I dug this sketch book out of the box it's stored in and finally did that painting.

Back in 2008 we spent a couple of days walking part of the South Downs Way which I understand used to be a pilgrim route from Winchester to Eastbourne. It was wet and it was windy but I enjoy recalling the memory of that visit. So here below is the finished result which I will be submitting to the Islington Art Society autumn exhibition next week.

©Heather James 2013

It's taken me five years to get to West Ham!

I'm wearing my denim skirt, flat suede shoes with bare legs and I've just done what I've been trying to avoid and that's get stung by a stinging nettle. It reminds me of when I was a little kid and my parents banned me from exploring some rough ground near where we lived. I just had to go and see this place for myself and my legs got stung from top to bottom.

Anyway, today I am exploring East London Cemetery and trying to find a way of getting to the Memorial Park which is next to it without having to go the long way round via the main entrance to the cemetery and the road. I am out of luck and have to retrace my steps. Along the way I gawp at the elaborate memorials that a lot of local people see as a fitting way to remember their loved ones and I ponder that some of these marble and stone fantasies must cost as much as a house. It strikes me that selling memorial stones might be a good business to get into.

My reason for swanning around this part of London is that it is very close to West Ham station and it is the next stop on my continuing drawing project following stations on the Silverlink/North London line. I began this project nearly five years ago. I have 23 more stations to cover and if I want to finish this project in my life time I had better get a move on.

The drawing above is from Memorial Park facing the line of trees beyond which is the cemetery. My mother-in-law made me a present of some watersoluble sketching pencils which I haven't used before. I found working out how much water to use both tricky and intriguing and I've ended up with a drawing which is more lively than the park actually is. I'm off to Paris next week so I'll have another go with them then.
Au revoir.

You're so slow, speed up, work faster!

I've always been a bit of a slow coach. I can remember my Mum commenting on it when she would walk me the mile to school and back when I about five years old. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, it's just that I travelled at my own speed, and fifty-odd years later I still do.

This proved to be a bit of a problem when I was doing exams as a 16 year old. I was never very confident at maths and I knew, during one exam, when I kept rechecking my answers, that if I'd only had another 15 minutes I could have got a higher grade. Still never mind, has always been my mantra.

These days I notice I walk slower than other people - no change there but I notice it more and more. They overtake me on the inside and power down the road. Me, I saunter along and enjoy watching the world go by and get there in the end - occasionally I'll speed up when I'm late for the bus but usually I'm content to wait for the next one. I also eat slower and drink slower than other people. A cup of tea can last all morning at work but that's often because I've forgotten it's there.

And not surprisingly I make art quite slowly - in fact dead slowly. Having worked for 30 years in publishing to strict deadlines I actually learned to speed up. It was a case of speed up or speed out but it took me years to learn the art of simultaneously thinking and doing. The endless 'have you done this?', 'have you done that?', 'it's needed now' used to make me anxious but not more productive. Finally I got the hang of it and when I was working in newspapers I became a bit hooked on flinging pages together, running on adrenalin all day and irritated by people who took their time.

But now I can see a real advantage to working slowly because creative endeavours can often take a very long time to come to fruition. For example this very day I have solved how to approach a portrait I have been struggling with for more time than I care to mention. I've already thrown one version of it on the scrap heap and I'm confident that the new approach I've settled on will result in a more satisfying solution. And let's face it: no-one else has a vested interest in whether I produce artwork or not so I might as well take my time and produce work I can be proud of even if it does take years.

What's the point of sketch books?

Bust of Eve Fairfax by August Rodin (1902-3) Bronze: at the V&A. Killing time before meeting for a family lunch.

I notice that my last visit to the world of blog was on 4 October last year - that was two whole seasons ago! I won't go on about the weather but I do feel more lively now spring is here and the days are getting longer.

Just yesterday we went on a walk through the fenlands of Essex. For the exercise and for the views. My husband took his fancy camera and his fancy tripod. I took my sketch book and pencils - they didn't see the light of day until we got home and I took them out of my rucksack.

I often do this. Carry my book and pencils with me in the hope that I'll add to its contents and decrease the number of blank pages. I'm currently working my way through a tiny book that I received as a present and I've just noticed that the first date in it is 28 December 2002. It's very nearly too small for me to draw anything in it. Two years ago I took it on holiday with me to Lyon in France and our host's young son thought that looking through it was the highlight of our visit. I was astonished.

Not surprisingly it takes me for ever to fill one whole book. I usually have a few books on the go at once and I recently managed to complete a rather nice square book which took me three patient years from start to finish.

My friend Cathy got me thinking about why I work in sketch books. She asked me if I use my sketches as a basis for something bigger, more permanent. Oh no, I replied. I make them and leave them. Sometimes I'll look back at them, sometimes I don't but I am careful to avoid judging the quality of what I produce. I accept it as it is. It could be scruffy, turned out in a moment or laboured and delicate. It doesn't matter.

But as I've thought about it I realised that I like to sketch stuff as I am on the move because that is how I learn more about where I am and what is around me and that makes my life more interesting. I've included two drawings from the current book for your amusement.Waiting to see the dentist - you could describe this as displacement activity.

Saturday we went for a walk!

The fact that we went for a walk on Saturday shouldn't seem at all remarkable since that is an activity we like to do. The only reason it needs an exclamation mark is because I've been unwell since the beginning of the year and now I am finally better and a BIG hooray is all I can say to that.

We chose a route from Country Walks near London by Christopher Somerville, published by Pocket Books (52 walks within easy reach of London). We've lived in east London and had Essex on our doorstep for the last five years and we've barely explored this interesting county. We had to choose somewhere that we could reach by public transport since we don't own a car and this circular walk from a village near Romford which delights in the name of Havering-atte-Bower just fitted the bill. The middle part of the name is pronounced 'Atty' as was demonstrated for me by a man we met en route.

The guide book tells us that English monarchs used to stay at Havering Palace which was built by the side of the present village green and was well placed for hunting in nearby Hainault Forest. There were no signs of any Royals when the bus dropped us off but we were genially dismissed from the bus by a couple of old ladies who took it upon themselves to make sure that we alighted at the right stop. We promptly checked the return bus times as the bus only runs every 90 minutes and then headed into the church to see what there was to see. Unusually for an English village the church isn't particularly old. It's built from flint and looks in good condition and was finished in 1878. It was clear though when we roamed around the churchyard that there must have been an older church on that site as some of the headstones were quite ancient. All was revealed when we went inside and found an old engraving of a previous church that looked like a thatched cottage and it was demolished along with the Royal Palace. This had been St Mary's Chapel and was later rebuilt as the parish church and renamed St John the Evangelist.

That felt like a good start to our outing and we were so keen to get on with our walk that I quite forgot to look out for the old village stocks that stand on the corner of the green. We felt slightly hampered by not having an ordnance survey map with us which shows every bump and stand of trees in the landscape so we had to make do with the map in the book which didn't give us enough information. But it did get us to a very good pub called the Royal Oak which advertised itself as serving fresh fish delivered daily from Billingsgate Fish Market. We couldn't pass up this opportunity and thoroughly enjoyed sea bass with rice and stir fried vegetables - it was a cut above your usual pub grub.

Our route continued from the pub car park, round a sort of rubbish tip and down an alley behind some houses. Before too long we were strolling through some woodland and met a man who told us he used to live around there as a boy and hadn't been back in 30 years. He appeared to be on some kind of private pilgrimage and he soon left us preferring his memories to our company.

While I love nothing more than gawping at other people's houses especially ones that are built like modern day fortresses with gates, large dogs and numerous cars which are plentiful in Essex it was a joy to get into the countryside proper. This is where the walk started to work its magic. The air was clear, the sun was out and the act of putting one foot in front of the other and stopping every so often to look at the view improved my mood no end. At one point we had a very clear view of Canary Wharf and the office blocks in the City of London and we were walking through a field! This struck me as bizarre but we were only 14 miles away from the city.

My husband is the map reader in our marriage and he carefully followed all the directions and we obediently crossed streams and turned left and right when instructed. Or so we thought but we reached a road at the point where we expected to come out at St Mary's Church at Stapleford Abbotts so we had obviously gone very wrong. So we trudged along a road until we spotted what could be a church tower. The only trouble was that the public right of way marker pointing in that direction was contradicted by a 'private property' sign. What to do? Risk getting shot by an irate homeowner? We chose to be cowards at this point and went the long way round and finally reached the church that Nicholas Pevsner described as hideous. We weren't able to see what he found so offensive as the church was locked so we couldn't get inside. On phoning one of the numbers listed on the church door to see if we could get the key we learned that we could help out with a working party at the church on the following Saturday if we wanted to. Instead we sat on a memorial bench in the church yard and drank our tea from the flask and decided we would risk walking back to the main road via the public right of way and to hell with outraged home owners.

Big day in the US, ordinary day in London

Part of a series of drawings of random domestic scenes

As I write this the good people of the United States are queuing to vote for their new president and I'm following events on BBC24 which is analysing every blessed thing just to fill up the time. I've watched, again, Barak Obama vote (for himself) and seen Sarah Palin's denim clad legs in the voting booth while she voted for herself: it seems that John McCain managed to dodge the cameras as he arrived to vote (I'm assuming for himself). I'm hoping that Barak Obama will win because I have found George Bush's presidency extremely disturbing over the last eight years and I hope for all our sakes that Obama will be a more enlightened president than the outgoing one. And of course it will also be historic to have the first black president of the US.

So what have I done today since I didn't have any good reason for getting up at 6am? Well, I stayed in bed for a start and got up at a civilised hour. I've been working at home for the last couple of weeks and that's included doing a series of pen and ink drawings of random domestic scenes around the house plus building a website. I'm not very experienced at website design yet so I get stuck trying to understand html and css and stuff fairly frequently. That happened yesterday so in the afternoon I took myself off to Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green, that great refuge from the rain and yes, it was raining again. My reason for going was that I fancied a walk so wasn't all that bothered by what I might see when I got there. On arrival I was rather tickled to spy in the foyer a modest exhibition of black and white photographs of Edwardian Outdoor Games by Andrew Pitcairn-Knowles.

Evidently the V&A own Pitcairn-Knowles glass negatives and I presume they were just stored away gathering dust in the archives so someone must have decided to haul some negatives out and make prints from them. They've been done on an ink jet printer: we have one of those at home. What I liked most about this small display, besides the charming images, was that Pitcairn-Knowles employed the latest in photographic technology in 1900 and here we are 100 years later reproducing those same images using technology which is common to us today. I also liked the way that a large national museum like the V&A thinks it is worth producing a small exhibition which will be of interest to a small number of people-it makes such a change to the big blockbuster exhibitions crammed with visitors. So that got a big commendation from me.

This afternoon I again got stuck with the website while trying to style up a form and gave up in disgust. So needing to get out of the house I mooched off to Hackney Public Library and popped into the very small museum they have there. (I would have put a link to the museum's website but it is really boring.) Apparently the Saxons were responsible for establishing Hackney way back in the dim and distant past but I was more interested in a temporary exhibition on the right hand side as you go in called Living under one roof-Windrush and beyond. It is part of Black History Month which oddly enough lasts for nearly two months! The exhibition takes its name from the ship called the Windrush that arrived at Tilbury docks on 22 June 1948 bringing with her many young men and some young women from the Caribbean who arrived in search of jobs and a better life. This was an important landmark in the history of modern Britain.

On arrival the new migrants encountered racism, conflict and discrimination in a cold, damp country that was still impoverished after WWII: not surprisingly they often felt homesick. They were frequently excluded from the social and economic life around them so in time they adjusted the institutions they brought with them, for example sitting rooms were often used for church services, and at the same time they began to participate in institutions to which they did have access like trade unions and bit by bit over the decades modern Britain emerged. The lives of some of the people who finally pitched up in Hackney, who are by now very elderly, are described in room sets. There is the kitchen, the sitting room and the bedroom and many of the items of furniture and family photos have been provided by the men and women whose lives are being described. I was born in west London in 1956 where many black people settled and I loved looking at these rooms today because they took me back to my childhood. The bent kettle looked familiar as did the gas cooker and the copy of Woman's Realm on the coffe table. The family photos and kid's school satchel lying on the floor in the bedroom, the bedspread and the rug on the floor. I know all these things, I've used all of them in my time. So today I feel I have learnt a bit more about the Windrush generation and I'm grateful to them for establishing the multicultural London I so enjoy living in 60 years later.

Please watch your step

Thames Water Authority have been spending the last few months digging up our roads and pavements and replacing the decrepit Victorian water mains that provide our drinking water with nice, new, blue plastic pipes. We know they are blue because we can see them stacked up ready for use everywhere we go. As the engineers finish one section of road they move onto another, or they might start again on the same section of road they just completed. This work is likely to continue for months to come so every time we leave the house we have to watch where we step since the surface we're walking on might have changed overnight!

Last weekend we had a guest to stay who was keen to visit Tate Modern and we were happy to oblige. This entailed skirting the red metal fencing surrounding the various excavations in the roads and walking on heavy plastic covers laid over holes in the pavements to get to the bus stop for the 388 bus. I always find this bus route an interesting ride because it takes you through Hackney to Bethnal Green and then through the City of London and on to St Paul's Cathedral which is where we got off.

Tate Modern is on the opposite side of the Thames to St Paul's and the quickest and most scenic route to cross is to go via the Millennium footbridge. This is an elegant, steel suspension bridge described as a 'blade of light' and is the first bridge to be built across the Thames since Tower Bridge in 1894. However it's got the nickname of the 'Wobbly Bridge' because of an unexpected swaying as a result of the numbers of people walking across it in the first two days it was opened. Consequently the bridge had to be closed to the public in June 2000 and modified to eliminate the wobble and reopened in February 2002. So now it is safe to cross and you can enjoy the view while you walk. It only takes a couple of minutes to make the crossing and you'll notice to the left hand side of the Tate the Globe Theatre which is a reconstruction of the theatre where Shakespeare's plays were performed during his lifetime. Since the theatre is open to the elements, having no roof, it has a short season which ends in the autumn.

As we approached the Tate we could clearly see Louise Bourgeois' sculpture of an enormous spider. I have seen this piece on display inside the gallery where it seemed dwarfed by the size of the Turbine Hall but outside it seemed to have more impact because it is clearly larger than anything else near it and made the humans walking around it look a lot like ants milling around.

So finally we had reached our goal which was the installation in the Turbine Hall that has been causing so many comments in the last few weeks. It has become known as the 'crack in the floor' and several visitors managed to fall into it in the first few days it was open to the public, so presumably they weren't looking where they were going! It is the work of a Colombian artist called Doris Salcedo and is called 'Shibboleth'. A shibboleth, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is 'a word used as a test for detecting people from another district or country by their pronunciation, a word or sound very difficult for foreigners to pronounce correctly.' It is, therefore, a way of separating one people from another. I've been quoting from the text written by Martin Herbert published in the accompanying leaflet and he continues: 'For Salcedo, the crack reveals a 'colonial and imperial history [that] has been disregarded, marginalised or simply obliterated...'

I was obviously too shallow to understand any of this while I traced the length of the crack from one end of the hall to the other. I didn't get at all the 'untold dark side of the history of racism' while I examined the crack. I happily crossed from one side of the crack to the other in my short journey. I admired the skill it must have taken to create it and wondered how she managed to embed the chain-link fence into the crack that is clearly visible, but I didn't feel I was being encouraged to 'confront discomforting truths about our world and about ourselves'. However I did think it was time for lunch once our visit was over.

Off to Avebury

So yesterday, Sunday, saw us travelling to Avebury. We were spending the weekend with friends of ours in Swindon and this trip was our Sunday outing. Avebury is in Wiltshire, nearer to Marlborough than Swindon but still only a short drive away through rolling countryside. I enjoyed being a passenger in the back of the car having the leisure to look at the leaves on the trees, which are turning to red and gold, in the clear, autumn light while our friend drove and navigated diversions on the road.

Avebury is a World Heritage Site and is one of Europe's largest stone circles and some of the stones are impressively colossal. Unlike Stonehenge which is two miles west of Amesbury (also in Wiltshire) and is on a small, contained site, Avebury extends in a large straggling sort of way across a number of fields. It accommodates a pretty little village and some roads run round some of the larger stones. Apparently the stone circles were constructed 4000 years ago and originally comprised more than 180 stones. Where the stones are missing pointed stone markers have been put in their place so you can see the shape the circles would have made.

I have to confess that I'm not that interested in speculating what the original purpose of the Avebury stones might have been since the circles were created so long ago, but I do find the maps of earth energies you can buy in the village shop that some people have taken the trouble to dowse, and map, entertaining. What I do enjoy about the place is the atmosphere of tranquility and peace inspite of the numbers of people, and grazing sheep, you meet along the way traversing the various paths. At one point I was passed by a large party, who may have been one family, complete with young and older people and at least one dog. They were so close to me that as they walked I could clearly hear their conversation. Within a few minutes I saw them in the distance walking in a line from right to left, up and down a small hill and they suddenly looked more like pilgrims en route to a destination known only to them and their conversation was completely private. We finished our stroll to the site with a visit to a stand of old, knarled beech trees that have roots that extend so far from the base of the trunks that they have formed an interlacing pattern. It was like standing under a tent and every so often some people would leave the protection of the trees and others would join them.

It seemed natural at this point to visit the Red Lion pub and I quote "it is the only Inn the world positioned within an ancient stone circle and is said to be one of the top ten most haunted locations in the world". They apparently have a resident ghost called Florrie who "is said to have had her throat slit by her husband after he caught her with another man and threw her down the well with a boulder thrown on top of her". The said well is in the bar and is safely covered with a glass lid. Frankly it looked to be a tight fit for any but the slimmest adulteress to end her days in but no-one seemed to care one way or the other since eating lunch was the chief activity going on.

Wandering in Wiltshire

Thursday lunchtime found us sitting on a bench eating pasties and gazing at the Wiltshire countryside. The view included, about a mile away, the A30, beyond which is a clearly marked DANGER area, where Her Majesty's armed forces practice blowing stuff up and is close to, if not part of, Salisbury Plain. The weather was glorious and I discovered later on that I looked as red as a beetroot having caught the sun and not used any suntan lotion.

Our goal was to get to Roche Court to see a sculpture exhibition of Anthony Caro's work that was due to end in a few days time. We'd got this far on our journey by first taking the bus from Salisbury. Then, not knowing the area, we stayed too long on the bus and found ourselves stranded in what might as well have been No Man's Land. We had in our possession an Ordnance Survey map, no 131 if you're interested, bought the day before specifically to avoid getting lost but initially it was no use since we couldn't find where we were on the map so couldn't get our bearings. The result was a rather longer walk than we had hoped. We were finally put on the right path by two nice ladies who were doing some gardening and after that we were able to enjoy the day. It turns out that had we had our own helicopter we could have landed it on the front garden at Roche Court if we'd given them advance warning of our arrival!

Straw soaked in disinfectant by the main gate reminded us that Foot and Mouth is back in the country and that Roche Court is a working farm as well as venue for art exhibitions. The main house appeared to be a Georgian building but visitors are not allowed in the house. Visitors are allowed to roam around the large expanse of garden where a lot of sculptures are displayed, in the walled kitchen garden where there are more sculptures and in the small contemporary gallery, which joins the house, and was showing some abstract works by Sheila Girling. I had expected to only see the Caro's on display in the garden but a number of other artists had work on show which made for a more interesting visit. Barbara Hepworth was included as was Richard Long. There were a few odd pieces that looked like fairy tale characters from the Brothers Grimm but they were offset by pieces that I found more interesting and were abstract pieces inspired by the human figure.

I realised I was getting a bit tired when, in the walled kitchen garden, I paid more attention to the structures that the runner beans were growing up than the artwork next to them. However the things that really impressed me here were a couple of very large amphorae lying on the ground. I don't know if these were really, really old but I know this kind of thing was used in ancient Rome to contain oil or wine and I liked to imagine that they might be ancient.

We completed our visit by sitting on one of the exhibits and having a chat. It was a piece called 'Harbour' by Oliver Barratt - I hope he didn't mind but we just needed to have a sit down before embarking on our return journey to Salisbury.

On the Arundel Gallery Trail

Bank holiday Monday found us on a smart new train out of Victoria Station and heading south towards Arundel in Sussex. We were going to sample the Arundel Gallery Trail which is held during the Arundel Festival towards the end of August every year. The idea was to go and see our friend, David who I'd shared a stall with at our local Midsummer Festival. He was showing his woodcut prints and drawings along with three other artists in a vacant shop in Tarrant Street which was at the heart of the gallery trail and so was a good place to exhibit.

Arundel lies close to the South Downs and the countryside, as you approach by train, is distinctly different from anything we usually see in the Lea Valley and is well worth a visit. The town has its very own castle which is rare and was established at the time of the Norman Conquest. The castle has been extensively restored over time and frankly looks too good to be true. Being sited on a hill it dominates the view of the town from the train station and provides a good landmark to follow as you walk into town. The castle has been home to the Dukes of Norfolk, the premiere Catholic family in the country, since way back in the 1500s. The town also boasts its own cathedral which is, I understand, what normally defines a city but since it's a Roman Catholic cathedral that may not apply in this case.

We approached the town from Queen Street which meant we had to cross the River Arun and as we did so we were offered the chance to buy an entry into the duck race and the plastic yellow ducks were all lined up and ready to go! I quite fancied the idea of joining in but by the time we went back some time later it was all over - shame. Never mind, since what we really wanted to do was go visit art. The trail is an art 'open house' event and you can pick up a brochure with a map in it and trot up and down streets entering participating houses and shops on a whim and without an invitation. It's great fun and provides a fantastic opportunity to snoop round posh Georgian houses. A couple of the houses had jazz music playing in the background which competed with the live Rock and Roll playing in the town square - I must say I preferred the jazz. There was the usual mix of interesting work and tat and some work had the desirable little red dots placed underneath indicating they had been sold.

We particularly liked some sculptures in what estate agents would call a well appointed garden in Maltravers Street. There were some sculptures of individual fish on metal spikes pushed into the lawn which, when displayed in an untidy row, resembled a shoal of fish which we rather liked and I can't remember the name of the artist and there was also a display of large copper pots made by Mike Savage. It would have been nice to buy one of these pots but we don't have room in our very small garden. Another artist's work which made a favourable impression on us was by Andy Waite. While we didn't like everything on show in his house we very much liked some of his large landscapes, especially those which had been inspired by the local landscape and you can have a look at some of them at his website. Arundel is a small town and it seems that everyone knows everyone else so I took the opportunity to introduce myself to Andy and tell him that many years ago I spent some time lolling around in his kitchen when David had lived there. Oh, how time flies!

Another day, another walk

On Friday evening three of us decided it would be nice to take a walk together on the following day, Saturday. The temperature was cool when we made the decision but come the next morning it was a different story and the weather was forecast to be about the hottest it's been this summer. True, we haven't had a glorious English summer this year but I still think that 30° C is hot for walking - others no doubt will disagree.

One of our party was keen to meet early in the morning so we could be out for the whole day but there was shopping to be bought and chores to be done so we compromised and met at around noon at Hackney Wick station. Our plan was to amble roughly north along the Lea Valley Park as far as Springfield Park, which is a distance of about three miles, with no particular plans in mind after that. We hadn't done this walk for over a year and were curious to know how the area may have changed in the mean time. This is because part of the Lea Valley Park is being incorporated into the 2012 Olympic site and this will change the area's appearance. However the only change we could see were blue hoardings that have been erected on the east side of part of the tow path restricting, but not impeding, the movement of cyclists and walkers for a short distance.

So far, so good. No sign then of the Olympics spoiling our weekend pursuits at least for the time being. Our walk took on a pleasant pace and we paused every so often to look at something, or pick a berry, or take a swig of water and there were few other people around to disturb the peace. At some point I remarked on the sight, on the opposite bank, of a partly submerged canal boat still tied at one end to a post on the canal side. My companions didn't find the sight of a sunken boat remarkable, and, while I would have liked to have stared at it for longer wondering who had left it in that state, they kept on walking.

So with Hackney Marsh to our right, which is apparently to be turned into a coach park for the Olympics and no longer available for football matches, our destination for lunch was not far off. First of all we had to pass the Middlesex filter beds and nature reserve. We recommended visiting this on our return to our friend but in the event did not go back that way and so the opportunity on this occasion was lost.

Here we crossed Cow Bridge and got onto the west side of the canal and headed to the Princess of Wales pub for lunch. I always find this pub a slightly depressing place because it is full of photos of Diana but today we chose to sit outside and so didn't have to look at them. While we were waiting for our food we looked over the canal to a recently restored building which has an air of a Lutyens country house about it. Far from being the home of an affluent industrialist it is the office from where Thames Water authority are coordinating the upgrading of our leaking Victorian water mains which will take who knows how long to accomplish. There is another pub next door to the Princess of Wales which has a nautical theme and I think we should try it on our next visit. There is a chance that the food might be better than the lunch we had which looked nice enough but didn't taste of anything much.

So on to Springfield Park which we reached by continuing along the canal and it's entrance is just past the Anchor and Hope pub. The park used to have some rather elegant villas in it and one remains with a café in it. There are formal gardens in it where a wedding party were having their photographs taken and acres and acres of lawn where people were sunbathing and picnicing. The park is on a hill so you can get a good view of the Walthamstow Marshes and since most of London is so flat it's nice to get above sea level occasionally and this is where I chose to sit and do this drawing.

Are you lost?

"Are you lost?" the man asked. "No", I replied "we're puzzled". And we were because we were trying to find the beginning of a walk. We were planning to walk along part of the route of the river Wandle beginning near Wandsworth Town train station and finishing 4.5 miles later at Merton Abbey Mills, near Colliers Wood Station.

We were following the route described in Gilly Cameron-Cooper's book Walking London's docks, rivers & canals and cursed ourselves for leaving the A to Z at home which at this point would have been more useful. We began to get our bearings after we'd crossed four lanes of traffic, which is part of the Wandsworth gyratory system, and found Smugglers Way which took us close to the river Thames. Feeling more confident we got on to the Causeway which we learned from the guide book 'was once the road to the village square over the marshy delta of the Wandle'. Evidently the Wandle was great for water power and was one of the best rivers in England for driving mills and this gave rise to all sorts of industry being established on its banks. In the early 19th century the many mills were powering industries like 'lavender and leather processing and the production of beer, gunpowder, chocolate, textiles and paper'. In fact the Ram Brewery, which had been a commercial brewery since the reign of Queen Elizabeth I and later bought by Youngs in 1831, has only recently closed for business.

After our fleeting sight of the river Wandle we came upon a modern day industrial site where we were directed to turn left. This was impossible as the way was blocked by a building so we trudged on until we found a local map in a bus shelter which put us back on the right route. This involved recrossing the gyratory system and here our walk proper began. We circuited the Ram Brewery premises which was full of parked vehicles and appeared to be functioning but there was no sign of human life. We wondered what's going to happen to the place now: more than likely it will end up with expensive flats built on the site.

We decided to give the town museum a miss and pressed on to King George's Park and the Wandle Trail, leaving the road works and building sites behind us. The Wandle disappears under Wandsworth's famous Arndale shopping centre and we picked it up again in the park which is a very pleasant, manicured municipal green space with an impressive willow tree, tennis courts and playgrounds for the kids. The further we followed the Wandle Trail the less built up the route became and we could enjoy the rhythm of walking and breathing fresher air. This wasn't to last long because our way was blocked again with industrial buildings and we had to make our way through a large housing estate, which had amazing repeating curved arches under which we walked, to Garrett Lane and then into Earlsfield.

Earsfield was once a rural village and presumably Garrett Lane had been a country lane before the opening of the railways. Now you have to use your imagination because there is concrete and tarmac as far as the eye can see. We decided this was a good as time as any to stop at a pub, and it was pouring with rain, so we ducked into a cavernous bar which it turned out was called 'the puzzle'. Once we'd rejoined the trail we entered the part of the walk which felt very much like being in the country. Our pace slowed and we had time to stare and listen to the sounds of the river. This may not have lasted much more than a mile but the impact it had on me made it feel like the greater part of the walk. Before too long it was time to start navigating our way around Colliers Wood. We couldn't walk through much of the Wandle Meadow Nature Park due to flooding but we could see it and it looked like a lake.

According to our map the end of our walk was in sight but, like the start of our outing, we had much circumnavigating to do before we reached our goal. We found ourselves traipsing through an out-of-town retail park where many centuries before Merton Priory had existed until the Dissolution in 1538. Instead of walking through cloisters, or attending church, or getting fish from the fish ponds we found ourselves passing PC World, fast food joints and filling stations. Still surrounded by retail outlets built in the 1980s we were puzzled again as to how to get to Merton Abbey Mills but we carried on until we saw a small area of old buildings with many sign posts saying 'Merton Abbey Mills'. So there it was, at last and we gratefully sat at a table at Mama Rosa's Italian Trattoria to eat a delicious Italian meal while reading about Emma, Lady Hamilton, Admiral Lord Nelson and William Morris, the pioneer of the Arts and Crafts Movement, all of whom had lived, loved and laboured on this same site in previous generations.

A short stroll to the canal

As I enter the park through the gate I leave every day life behind me. I'm standing under a tall avenue of plane trees which are as high as a church and extend as far as my eye can see to my left and my right. The branches provide slowly moving shade and a similar tranquility that you might find in a cathedral.

I leave the protection of the trees and enter the open country of the park and am exposed to the sun which feels hot. There are few people around, most walking dogs, and I can hear dried leaves crackling underfoot. I pass the bandstand which stands empty in a stand of trees. Occasionally I see someone practicing martial arts in there but not today. As I move on I spy one or two cyclists in the distance; then feeling a breeze hear it whistling through the trees. Now I am approaching the canal - the object of my walk - and become aware of a number of crows standing on the grass which reminds me of Alfred Hitchcock's film The Birds. This feels slightly menacing but is swiftly replaced with the intoxicating scent of Honeysuckle which I luxuriate in but oddly can't locate.

Here I leave the park and walk onto the tow path of the Hertford Union Canal. I am aiming for the Top Lock as opposed to any other lock. There's one narrow boat moored by the side of the canal and I can just discern the people on it talking. I can hear more birdsong now I am by the canal but they are having to compete with the sounds of crashing coming from the industrial units opposite. Two very large birds swim gracefully by and I wonder if they are swans or ducks as I turn left towards my goal. While I am enjoying the sounds of bees buzzing, birds whooshing and butterflies fluttering silently by my eyes are distracted by a number of industrial plastic sacks lying in the water by the side of the canal. They look as though they have been there for a very long time.

I forget the bags as soon as I spot the blackberry bushes and hoping for a free treat (although this is only July) feel mildly disappointed when I see that none of the fruit is ripe yet. Then my butterfly mind is occupied by another new sight which I've never seen before. It's on the opposite bank and set in a housing development. It's a sculpture and at first glance it looks like a horse pulling a carriage. On the other hand it could just as easily be a horse towing a rowing boat and what I had thought was the awning of the carriage could also be describing a wave of water. I can see there is a small notice by the sculpture, but I will have to wait until I've worked out how to get over to that side of the canal before I can read it, and that won't be today.

I continue my stroll towards the Top Lock accompanied by the drone of an aeroplane and in the distance I can see the constant stream of traffic on the A12, which although not a motorway might as well be one. The traffic noise is drowned by the torrent of water rushing through the gates of the lock and it smells seaweedy which strikes me as odd since we are inland. I have reached my goal but find I have to share it with a couple who are having a romantic moment. They are oblivious to my presence but I am aware of them so leave them to their privacy. I can come back another day.