Identity Crisis

Once again, Eliza has provided me with the wherewithals to do a post on a new LOCI episode at least a year before we are likely to see it in the UK.

Love the look!

Bedfellows

This is one of those weird albums with a gap in the middle. The pictures are pretty good, though, so I just added one to replace the missing number 87.

Some of my favourite close-ups of Bobby EVER are in this album.

Siren Call

There are some reasonably good pictures in here, but there's always room for improvement.






















So I had a look and I couldn't resist these:

The Film Star, the MP, the Smurf and his Trouserless Friend.

There was a family history fair today in the City of London. (This is the name of the central part of London, once the financial centre, where London was founded 2000 years ago.)

I got on the Docklands Light Railway at the local station and sat down. A few minutes later, a woman struggled on with a child in a pushchair (stroller). The doors closed right away - but there, outside, were her companions, a youngish man and an older woman. They pressed the button, and luckily the doors re-opened and the pair got on. They all walked past me, the older woman speaking. I looked up and smiled. "I thought I recognised the voice," I said. It was none other than the woman who appeared naked before the world with Oliver Reid and Alan Bates, and Richard Chamberlain, now the MP for Hampstead, the Rt Hon Glenda Jackson MP.

My ex-husband used to be a councillor in Camden (where Hampstead is) and he used to call her "vinegar tits" because of her constant sour expression in the absence of cameras, but she looked pretty happy to me today.

The Fair was at The Barbican. The original fortifications of London included a barbican which was sited here. The area, being in the heart of the city, was bombed in WWII, and in the 1960s and 1970s it was rebuilt with these horrendous concrete monstrosities. They are residential.
There are still some remains of the old London Wall. This chunk is situated in a street called - London Wall! This side shows some of the oldest stone work. The bottom-most section is Roman, it was added to across the centuries - there is medieval stone and Tudor brick in layers.

This piece of the wall could probably be unpicked by an archaeologist, but its make-up is a mystery to me.

For fans of the UK comedy show, once on radio, now on TV, I thought I'd include a snap of this street name. I have no idea why the street is called that.

Although Barbican station is only two stops from Bank station, there is a change of trains at Moorgate. There these three young men appeared and kept us all in fits all the way to Bank. They had been separated from their friends when one had tried to push another off the train they were on, and he had dragged the others with him. Blue shirt was in his underpants, which luckily could pass for shorts. He had left his trousers on the original train. They were offering £60 to anyone who would sell their trousers to him. Absolutely no one took offence, and a fun time was had by all. I even got a blue kiss at the end when I pointed them to their next underground train line.
When I tried to take their photo, the cmaera had accidentally slipped into movie mode, so we have a few snatches of the madness.

Blind Spot

Season 6 already! How time flies. There are so many glorious pictures from this episode, and they really are not represented here. Number 301 is a disaster!






















So here is the bonus choice:

Pedicure with no cure

I take care of my feet. Every day after my shower I rub cream into them. Yet still the hard skin forms.

The massage machine I bought in February has an attachment you can use to smooth off hard skin, if you coat it in pumice paste.

I have yet to find anywhere that sells pumice paste.

This morning I entrusted my feet to a chiropodist. He was quite complimentary about their condition. He also told me that my ministrations were useless, because the creams I was using contain perfumes and alcohol. (What? You can get drunk by sniffing them?) The cream moisturises you, then the alcohol dries you right back out again. So I went on the hunt for alcohol free foot cream. Or just any alcohol free lotion.

Forget it. Even the well-known tootsie brand Dr Scholl does not comply.

Poor feet, can't rough 'em up, can't smooth 'em down. Kiss 'em better, Vincent.