This is one of the buildings in Leicester that caught my attention on Sunday. I guess it must be pretty well-known because one of my commenters yesterday asked if I'd seen it. Built in 1901, it's the Art Nouveau-style Turkey Cafe.
its own Wikipedia page. It's a protected building and now serves as a restaurant, though it didn't seem to be open when we were there, so we didn't go in.
I love the mosaic turkey on the roof, made with Royal Doulton ceramic tiles.
Things are finally starting to settle down around here. Ever since Singapore my life has been in a bit of an uproar, with our visiting guest, our trip to Leicester and my efforts to finish as much Bleeding London as possible by today's deadline. Not to mention work. That too. I haven't had much time to read blogs (or even the news) so I must apologize to my blog pals. I promise I will catch up with all of you ASAP!
I read a terrific piece in Harper's this month about solitude -- a writing life lived singly -- and it really resonated with me. I lived almost my entire adult life as a single man, until age 42, and I appreciated author Fenton Johnson's take on the creative rewards of being alone. Don't get me wrong -- I treasure my relationship with Dave, and fortunately we have the kind of bond that allows each of us to do his own thing, so I am not bereft of solitude even now. In fact I'm arguably even more solitary than I was when I was single, no longer pulled by the social whirl and the romantic ebb and flow of various crushes and casual dates.
But I always enjoyed my singlehood, and Johnson's piece was thought-provoking in questioning the cultural tide that pulls us toward pairing up. Especially those of us who tend to be creative, cerebral types. I do need to continue to make quiet time for myself. Bleeding London serves that purpose now -- it gives me a chance to walk, all by myself, with just my thoughts and my camera and my creative impulses. Aloneness in general soothes me and makes me much less cranky. Some people find it a curse but I find it a refuge.
Dave feels the same way. I know he enjoys being alone at home, when he can fling ingredients in the kitchen or putter in the garden. (Why is "putter" a word exclusively reserved for gardens? Do people ever "putter" in the living room or the den?)
Speaking of which, Dave spent a lot of time in the garden yesterday. He finally put our pathetic lemon tree in the ground, or at least the remaining twiggy bits, in the hopes that it will somehow survive. (Odds are long.)
Is it my imagination or does that turkey have unrealistically huge feet?
Olga is enjoying having us at home this week. She got two outings yesterday -- a morning romp in the cemetery with me and an afternoon walk with her dog-walker. (We haven't cancelled the dog-walker, even though we're home all week. It's nice to farm that task out, especially when I'm hoofing it with the camera.)
It's super-windy out there this morning. The daffodils are taking a beating!