pumpkinstrokemarrow

Took a stroll past that gaunt mono-tower, formerly known as Bankside Power Station, the other evening. The tower looked very gaunt indeed, thrown up against the deep blue winter sky at night, dotted with rather dodgy looking pink-tinged white clouds scudding past. Pity that such a building should now be host to such a bunch of confidence tricksters, elephantasised egos and other dubious types. Once it used to be useful, producing electricity.

At least the giant graffiti appear to have gone from the curtain wall. While one of the names still on the roof, Rothko, was the subject of a learned peice in the TLS the other week. Impressive how many words and how many pounds can be spent on large, ragged, crimson squares on an orange ground - such squares appearing to be the master's favourite recipe. To my mind the sort of thing that hotel chains use in a desperate attempt to brighten up those long dull corridors behind their public areas. Which one has to negociate to get to one's room, trying not to get lost under the influence. Alternating with vapid water colours of a less abstract variety.

Was further impressed when I got back to Epsom, later the same evening. There was some sort of power failure at the station, affecting just the station - including all the lights all those computerised machines and screens (which might otherwise have given off some light. Think how much light a PC on the flying windows screen saver gives out in a darkened room) - but not the rails or the neighbourhood. But there was a solitary valiant guard manning the station with a megaphone and he had rustled up some sort of candle lights to put on the stairways - which are quite steep and would be a bit scary in the dark. The station is not usually manned at that time of night - despite the prevalence of fuelled-with-cheap-lager-from-supermarkets youth - so maybe he had to be summoned in special. Or maybe he stayed on beyond the end of his shift. The chap in question has worked at the same station for all the twenty years I have been using it, so maybe he is still imbued with the old fashioned virtues (and vices) of British Rail.

But not so impressed yesterday on Epsom Common. The trustees have been at it again and another chunk of woodland has bitten the dust, in the interest, it seems, of recreating some mythic former state and according to some action plan which no doubt has the seal of approval of the relevant regulator. It seems that they have got over the excitement at playing with chain saws at weekend and are now content to get contractors to do it for them. They just plot in rooms which are no longer smoke filled. It really annoys me, I think, because I don't like change. I just want the common to drift on in a timeless sort of way, without coming across the scars and mess of management activity.

I could give them a dose of their own medicine. I could, as a rate payer, complain that they have not published a risk assessment on every tree, so that I can make an informed judgement, as a person going about lawful activity on the common, as to the risk I am running walking or playing under any particular tree. A large number of which either have dead branches or which have broken-off branches lodged in them. Perhaps they should erect a post with a plastic cased risk assessment under every tree. One side of A4 only, in elderly eye friendly type. A bit unsightly, but they might give over chopping trees down for a bit while they are putting them all up.

And they might let up on dog owners while they are at it. Then we would be spared the silly sight of dog owners scooping poop in the depths of the common. At least fish, horses, badgers and deer are, it seems, exempt from these particular regulations.

Fellow Epsonians may be pleased to learn that the Epsom branch of that well known supplier of office supplies, Staples, is now tooled up for Christmas. So as well as office supplies, they also do, for the duration, Christmas decorations, Christmas biscuits and Christmas sweets. Not quite in the same league as Chessington Garden Centre, but they have made a start.

And to close, a not too impressive performance on the soup front to report. Made some green pea soup with stock made by boiling up a chicken carcase ('Taste the Differance' from Mr S.) with onions, carrots and celery. Despite the use of fine smoked streaky from Cheam, the resultant soup had a rather smooth, saucy texture with rather a sweet taste. BH was happy enough with it, but, to my mind, pea soup should have a faintly sandy texture and a faintly salty taste. So it was palatable but wrong. I think the trouble was the chicken stock with its wrong sort of fat, but I should mention that the celery was GM or something. Had stangely smooth stalks. BH claims that all sorts of bizarre celery are now available from good stores.