Picos Gemeos

It was a lovely day for catching up with some colleagues, meeting new members of the team, and then having a nice drink afterwards with two members of my team, who also got to meet my boyfriend (who had just finished his Spanish lessons in preparation for his summer move to Madrid.[2]) My boyfriend and I then quickly popped into a local Prêt a Manger for lunch then fortuitously stumbled into steer, who had just finished a workout and was on his way to a pub. We also got the chance to wish him a happy birthday in person.

On the way home, on the Number 8 bus, the Wizard of Oz song still stuck in my head, I saw a poster outside a bank -- I think a poster about mortgages -- featuring Dorothy, with the quote: "There's no place like home."

When I got off the bus in Bethnal Green, a busker played the accordion nearby... Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Now my curiosity was piqued: I love a synchronicity. I got home and sat in the living room, enjoying the flat all to myself (the housemate was out and the boyfriend had stayed behind to shop for new trousers at Uniqlo.)

A few days earlier, on the Thursday, I'd been to our local bookclub to discuss Anna Burns' Milkman. We've been part of this bookclub for many years - nearly from the point we moved into the tower block just south of Victoria Park, back in 2005, which we lived in until 2014. My landlady, who was also a friend from work and lived on the same street as the tower block, invited us to join the fledging neighbourhood bookclub back then, and we grew with it over the years, became friends with everyone in it -- only taking a break during 2014, when I moved back to Brazil to help run my mom's guesthouse, and then last year, whilst we lived in the narrowboat.

I was warmly received by everyone in the bookclub and we had a good evening discussing the novel, which we all loved, as well as getting some inside scoop on Anna Burns' creative process, as she happened to have dedicated the book to one of our members! As it also happens with this bookclub, we eventually got talking about other things, and for this evening it was the current issue with pollution in London and what everybody was doing about it. While everyone chatted, I thought of my other bookclub - recently formed with colleagues at the BHF - and our current read, Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch.[3] I thought of how long it was (over 800 pages) and wouldn't it be nice if this bookclub also chose it, so I wouldn't have two massive novels to get through in the coming month.

Someone then mentioned the death of insects across the UK -- an apparent drop of nearly 70% -- and of how their memories from the 70s were of driving through the countryside and having their windshields covered with bugs, and how this didn't happen anymore. But then someone else mentioned that birds seemed to be returning to their garden. "Did you see the goldfinches?" she asked. "They are coming back."

Two days later, sitting alone in my new home, thinking of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I opened The Goldfinch and a few pages into my reading came across a passage where the characters discussed Judy Garland's addiction to sleeping pills, and how she was served strong tea in the morning so it would flush the barbs out of her system. Then, a few chapters later, the main character (a 13-year-old boy called Theo who had lost his mother to a terrorist bomb in a NYC museum) visited a convalescing survivor of the attack and, in her bedroom, noticed a poster of The Wizard of Oz above her bed.

And what was the book selected by the bookclub on Thursday night you ask? Not The Wizard of Oz, I'm afraid, but Marilynne Robinson's Home.

[1] About 150 people volunteer all year round to help put on Pride in London - the capital's 3rd largest celebration.  The largest is the New Year fireworks display, followed by the London Marathon.
[2] I promise I'll give an update on this soon!
[3] As soon as the book was chosen -- from a byzantine process involving an online random list generator -- I tweeted millionreasons if I could borrow her copy, as I knew she'd have one -- and a week later, while sitting in a vegan fast food join in Camden, she handed me a hardcover copy which had been gifted to her by her parents.

After 17 years of living in London, I finally took part in a Jack the Ripper walk. It was a good one too!

My work buddies and I were led by a colleague who knows just about everything on Jack and the milieu he lived in. He has quite a good blog too.

I was glad to find out the victims didn't suffer as they were a) too drunk and b) throttled quickly before having their necks slashed. Worse were the witnesses who stumbled upon them and the mess Jack left behind.

But the detail that creeped me out the most was that Jack nearly got caught in some instances. If only the first person to find the body had turned their head, they would have seen Jack standing right there in the shadows... *shivers*

Afterwards, while walking down Regent's Canal in the dark, towards my boat by Victoria Park, I had to stop my mind from thinking there was someone watching me.

I'm currently sitting in a beautifully designed apartment just north of Victoria Park, East London. It belongs to friends of ours who are currently in Israel, who kindly lent us a spare key so we could use their shower and occasionally sleep in their spare room if the boat gets too cold.

I was meant to "work from home" today, which meant initially working from the narrowboat. But it rained heavily overnight, and throughout the day, meaning the boat's leaks (one of the little projects we are meant to tackle while we are guardians of the boat this year) were on overdrive. So we decampered to the flat with our things and spent the day here, working on laptops, drinking coffee, wistfully looking out of the window at the rain, at our friends' garden, at the imaginary cat I'd own if I lived here; wondering what it would be like to have a place like this to ourselves, with shelves filled with our books.

My boyfriend is flying to Spain tomorrow on holiday with a friend, for a week, so the boat move which we would have to do this weekend (narrowboats must move every two weeks in London) also had to be done today. I didn't want to wait until the weekend and do it on my own: I'm not quite confident yet in handling it by myself.

BBC Weather predicted a patch of dry at 5pm, so we left the flat and walked back to the narrowboat at that time and got set with preparing it for departure. A few minutes after untying, it started pissing down. Our next door neighbour was luckily home (their boat was double-moored to ours) and he turned out to be a lovely, friendly guy called Rob who didn't mind helping us untie and depart. I'd met his partner Harriet last Sunday and she'd kindly offered to lend us their bucket for the spring cleaning I was inflicting on the boat. Rob and I chatted about boat life, online boating forums and boating holidays outside London, until my boyfriend was all set with the engine and we were ready to leave. Rob had a kind face and I thought of how him and Harriet made a handsome couple.

Vanessa, the Spanish girl I'd first met when we'd arrived in Haggerston, wasn't around. Neither was the beautiful chimera cat I'd made friends with while we were moored in that spot.

I'd first met the cat just after we arrived, when she sauntered inside the boat one afternoon and curiously inspected every nook and cranny. After she'd tried to get inside the engine's box, I shooed her away. Later, after posting the obligatory photos on social media, I found out that an ex-colleague from work, Lucy, had come across the same cat on the canal path and had even stopped to pet her.

Excited about this coincidence, we agreed to meet up for a drink during the week, after work, and I'd take the opportunity to show her the narrowboat. Lo and behold, who do we spot on the canal path as we walked to the narrowboat? Cue more photos and selfies with the little thing. Someone online mentioned this type of cat was a good omen; others said they were rare. She did look to me like a living painting.

Lucy and I ended up bumping into my boyfriend on his way from work and the three of us decamped to a nearby gay pub I'd heard a lot about but never visited, The Glory. I was pleasantly surprised with the venue, the DJ, the clientele mix, the vibe. Their programme hints at many drag nights, many queer plays, many martini deals on Monday, and much more.

Then, on the following Sunday, walking back home loaded with freshly cleaned laundry, I spotted the chimera cat lying on top of our boat. I'd asked Instagram and Facebook that week what name we should give her and the most popular suggestions were "skipper" and "captain". The little captain did her usual inspection of the whole boat but, this time, jumped on the bed, curled up and went to sleep. I continued with my spring cleaning but once in a while I'd pop my head into the cabin and check on her: sometimes she'd open her eyes and look at me as if to ask "may I help you with something"; at other times she was completely lost in her dreams, her chin pointed up to the cabin's skylight. I wondered if she had fleas, and I wondered if we could add her to our adventure.

On one of our final nights in Haggerston, returning from a pint at The Glory, my boyfriend and I spotted her sitting in the middle of the towpath, just by our narrowboat. I called her and she came to me. Then she climbed the boat and circled my boyfriend's arms as he tried to open the hatch. I felt a little heartless but I lifted her small body and placed her back on the towpath. She looked back at us as if with indifference and then licked one of her paws. Then she scampered away.

Today, while we untied, while it rained, while we chatted to Rob, while we set off for Broadway Market -- our next home for the following two weeks -- I kept an eye out for the little Captain, but I didn't spot her anywhere. I have, however, bought some cat food. It's safely stored inside the narrowboat. The next time our paths cross and she comes inside, I'll be able to offer her a nice little welcoming meal.