Different bears and parched grass

Up early to go to Hampstead. Moisture in the air, a light, minuscule drops that didn't darken the pavement or my shirt.  Had to travel via Brighton after the crash on the Lewes line. The train stopped on the viaduct in Brighton, and I got a view of Preston Park, which was baked earth between the trees.

Did some editing of poems on the train, but began to feel out of sorts on the way up to Hampstead. I have a bit of a cold, which I hope I didn't give to Mum. 

Muggy in Hampstead. I met Mum at the station as usual, and we toddled down to the Old White Bear, which we both like as our special meeting place. Her amigos at the Waggon seem to have abandoned that place, and perhaps drink elsewhere. Toby called me while we were in the Bear, saying he hadn't been able to reach Mum, but they said hello. We sat in a different seat today, with views of different bears, as interlopers had moved into our usual corner, and we had our usual fare, pea and lovage soup for Mum, and a sourdough sandwich with cornflake battered haddock in it accompanied by a judicious shandy. The music a bit loud where we were sitting I am I told them to turn it down, as befits a gentleman of my age. All the music from the 70s. Weird how pubs still play all this old stuff. When I was a young lad in pubs in the 70s we wouldn't have been listening to music from the 1920s -- not that there are many younger folks in the Bear. Mum said that she had another scam attempt on the phone, but luckily it hadn't worked, but she had to go to the bank to check. She'd also been to the dentist yesterday, which had been okay. She'd got a taxi there, and a bus back. Two back payments have arrived from her US pension, another is still owed. I thought this was a good sign. Mum said I was an optimist.

Sloped back to Hampstead station, fond farewells. Walking down to West Hampstead station, noticing the leafy streets were already filling with desiccated golden leaves. Presumably shed by the trees desperately trying to conserve water.  A long schlepp home via Brighton. Began streaming with a cold, and boofed on the gold sofa talking with Lorraine eating salad and mackerel, and a bit of apple strudel because I had a gold. Soon it was time for bed.

Below the yellowed grass of Preston Park through the trees. Rain clouds, but no real rain.