Friday, March 4, 2011

flowers. Wimbledon.

It seems to be springtime here in London - or at least trying to be: the temperature is somewhere around freezing.   No point in pretending that iPhone flash photos are any good, for the most part - but, efficient though I was in every other respect, I haven't yet found where I put the little thingy for photo-card downloading, if I brought it at all.   But rather than forgo the ritual of arrival, I'll make do with this.

Reading David Kynaston's Family Britain 1951-7  on the plane - a rather crazy idea of a light book, in terms of literal weight - shocking how familiar so much of it is, even though I've not yet got to the year in which I was born.   It's not exactly analytical, for the most part, but wonderfully full of thick description - which (we'll move to the 1950s this week in my undergrad class) leaves me with an odd feeling that I'm somehow doing revision for a test on the period on material that's lodged somewhere in my brain, but fuzzily.

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