Wings and weather around visits to The Beast

On Tuesday I rang the bell to mark an end to five weeks of radio/chemotherapy which, it's hoped, will have frazzled my bowel tumour. Before that, a colonoscopy, various scans (several involving unexpected manual probes...), and two biopsies under general anaesthetic. Borderline Stage One/Two cancer like this would normally be removed in an op, but as mine is in a difficult place, and it would be a whopper involving plastic surgery and stoma, my wonderfully energetic surgeon Maria suggested I try an alternative route first.

I now wait eight weeks for an MRI scan to see if this has done the trick, and if not...still the op. But at least I know I'll be fine; I'm one of the lucky ones. Below is one of the three identical Beasts, so named by my kind friend Maev, who also took the photo below. Very impressive; it circulates around you like the spaceships dancing to the Blue Danube Waltz in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

I've also been fortunate in having only a ten minute walk to Charing Cross Hospital each weekday morning., with various cafes to stop off at on the way back if I have the time. I asked for early appointments because I wanted to carry on my Monday and Thursday afternoon Zoom classes - on Der Rosenkavalier and Nielsen respectively - which have helped keep me buoyant. I've also kept on reviewing, and witnessed some wonderful chamber and orchestral concerts, plus operatic production of varying degrees of success, mich the most impressive being Richard Jones's wacky new ENO take on Wagner's The Rheingold.

The main payoff of this is Margravine Cemetery, an arboretum with 70 different kind of trees and attendant birds: my big delight here was to witness the return of the overwintering Redwing flock which I missed last year.

I also took it as a good omen that while walking along the home square to the first treatment, I heard, then saw, Goldfinches in the early morning light. They haven't been back to the Niger seed feeder in the back for about a year, but good to know they're still around.

This was Day One, 18 January - a frosty day, one of many, beautifying the graveyard.

On the way back, it was surely serendipity that I bumped into near-neighbours Suchi and Jonathan, whom I hadn't seen since semi-Lockdown walks around the cemetery. We'd been planning to meet up, but now they were insistent that I joined them for supper as many nights of the week as I liked. Didn't want to overdo it, but have enjoyed two evenings of superb southern Indian vegetarian food and excellent company, the second on the eve of my last treatment earlier this week. I'm so grateful to them and all friends far and wide who've been supportive in one way or another. Certainly not been short of invitations to lunch and coffee...

While a hint of spring was already evident that day,

I snapped the first crocus in Margravine territory on 20 January, 

which was when I first saw the Redwings this year.

Three days later, an even more spectacular frost hit. I don't remember one quite like it in London, but probably I'm not usually walking in semi-nature so early in the morning.

Attempts have been made to have plenty of 'art' on the walls of the Radiotherapy Centre, and the theme here was alphabet-themed, but I did have to wonder about the wisdom of this one, next to one of the rooms where I had regular bladder tests (machine below pic) before the meeting with The Beast.

Moving swiftly on, here from 30 January is a clump of snowdrops from 30 January,

carkins

and crocuses waxing more abundant.

For about a week resurfacing of the cemetery paths meant I had skirt the edge, but that was all the better for catching the female Peregrine perched on the top of the hospital from different angles. Using my Leica Zoom to the full meant these aren't ideally sharp, but you get the gist.

Only a couple of weeks earlier, I'd joined the Peregrine watchers in the graveyard, was summoned to look through their telescope - 'be quick, before she flies off' - and then saw her swoop at immense speed over Margraviniana, circling back again (though without prey). Many of the hospital staff didn't know about their nesting guests who bring such glamour to the massive block, so it was good to be able to tell them and show them the pics. 

More common, but still a delight: on the morning of 6 February, there was a twitterfest going on just a couple of block further down the square, a convocation of Great Tits (here's one),

and the ubiquitous Ring-Necked Parakeets still add such colour, especially when they're eating the blossom on the cemetery's first flowering tree.

Snowdrops were now flourishing nearby,

and the magnolia next to the prunus will be flowering soon (though at the end of last week, there were no signs of that in Kew Gardens' magnolia grove.

Here's the first magnolia flower I saw, on Monday morning.

It's part of the beautifully landscaped garden in front of the Maggie's Centre in the grounds of Charing Cross Hospital. Read the story of the inspirational Maggie Keswick Jencks and her husband Charles here. I really regret not having gone there earlier - I hadn't even noticed it, though I knew of its existence from friend Cally, who found and still finds it a godsend during and after her extensive treatment last year - but I investigated on my penultimate day of treatment, and found it a very Utopia.

The building, like all Maggie's Centres, is an architectural treasure, designed by Rogers (as in Richard) Stirk Harbour + Partners, and won two RIBA awards in 2009; again, the website entry is excellent on this. This is the entrance as I first saw it

and one side of the building with the magnolia in front of it.

I look forward to the garden, designed by Dan Pearson, flourishing as the spring arrives - this is one of the first bloomers, a hamamelis or witch hazel - 

 and the three lovely people I met who worked there told me I was welcome to visit for as long as I wanted - one person in remission have been coming for nine years. Anyway, I earmarked it to host the four friends who wanted to come and hear me ring the bell on Tuesday. After my quickest ever treatment - 20 minutes; bladder and bowel fullness or not mean getting to be zapped can take up to an hour or more, and if you go later, there are inevitable delays - I had time to kill, so I wandered round the cemetery again and was very happy to hear the Redwing flock in full voice and see them in full flit and forage

before returning to radiotherapy reception at the time I'd told my pals to come along, 10.15. Wonderful Sharon, seen in the second photo below beckoning in the flowery blouse, summoned as many of the staff who could make it to witness my three rings.

My absolute faves weren't on duty at the time, but all the staff have been kind and courteous, without exception, and I was especially pleased to see my oncologist, Dr Basiak, who looked delighted: she's next to my flowers in the third pic, with friend Deborah behind. Then with a Gail's bag full of buns and cakes to Maggie's, where we sat at the central table and had excellent conversations with other visitors. None of them is in the below picture, because reasonably enough when I asked if I could take it, the request was to keep it to my friends - Carolyn, Tania, Henrik and Deborah. But you can see how lovely it is.

And soon, at last, I get to see my one and only in Dublin after a month apart; he was here for five weeks over Xmas and New Year, but the start of my treatment was put back, so he could only be around for my first four days. But how blessed I am in such good friends to provide support. Onwards!

Goldfinch, lapwing and redwing winter

I first saw the goldfinch flock outside the window last summer, when the swifts were also soaring and diving. They've been back in the past couple of months, perching in the tree opposite. More exclusively winter visitors, the redwing groups of 40 plus have been evident in our local (Margravine) cemetery, at least until very recently (they're due to fly back to Scandinavia soon, if they haven't already gone). The above goldfinch was snapped there on a Sunday morning of briefly settling snow, a solitary, along with various redwings.

Most exciting for me, because I've never seen them before, were the abundant lapwings at the London Wetlands Centre, briefly settling on one of the little islets.

And that was a one-day wonder, because soon the LWC became a casualty of new government lockdown ruling on animal collections and enclosed reserves. I've missed it, but there are always compensations, most recently a weekly Friday cycle to Kew Gardens and back with friend Cally. That needs another post, but let me whizz now from late November to the end of January elsewhere.

Impressive winter sunrises and sunsets have been very much a part of the last few months, especially when the days were shortest and rising meant catching the early morning light. Also from the front window, Venus still visible

and a few days later, true red sky in the morning.

Somewhat later in the morning and the month, tending towards mackerel sky.

Glad I made the most of the Wetlands while I could. On 13 November I was able to take in both Fulham Palace's Walled Garden, where the sprouts were coming on, and the other side of the river from Putney Bridge. Interesting fungus growing on felled tree trunks along the tow path

and rich ground-colouring from deciduous larches shedding within the LWC grounds

while on the 'wild side', the main channel always reflects different colours - after the previous visits this felt decidedly more winty.

In Old Brompton Cemetery the last of the leaves were in evidence.

Sunnier Sunday (22 November) in Kensington Gardens, a more robust autumnal splendour behind the statue of Queen Vic.

Late afternoon back at the Wetlands: long-tailed tits flitting back and forth

and plentiful action on the inland mere.

I've developed a special affection for the shovelers, most uxorious of birds, it seems: those who forage together stay together.

An ever-deepening (c. 4pm) sunset, punctuated by flights of geese and ducks overhead.

Kew Gardens on the 27th, mycological hunt not yielding a great deal other than a splendid clump of these big 'uns

and yet still a pleasure to wander the woods, admiring the beeches and birches,

out to the open opposite Syon House, the trees flanking always look handsome with or without leaves

and round the lake,

until we came in sight of all the mechanisms for the gimmickry of the annual 'Winter Wonderland'. Beats me why people need this when nature itself puts on the best show, but the lighting of the 'dancing fountains' in front of the Palm House did awaken a bit of the kid in me.

No electrickery, though, was going to outdo the sunset at the Wetlands the following Tuesday.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. On 1 December, even the hides were open, so it was splendid opportunity to visit with my polymathic young friend Freddie Wilkinson, who can identify every bird simply by the song. What we couldn't see, we could hear. In the willow, aspen and alders by the gate leading to the Wild Side, he noted long-tailed, great and coal tits, goldcrests, treecreeper and chiffchaff, and became very excited to hear what he'd told me he hoped he would - a Cetti's warbler. You might not think that the river cycle to get there came up with anything remarkable, but I've developed a soft spot for Canada gees when they glide

and fly (here past the new works on Fulham Palace football ground, which will extend the Thames Path to go around it on the river side).

Meanwhile I got a closer look at some of the special-collection residents - the Puna teal (you think it would be called blue-beaked, since that seems more remarkable)

and the plumed whistling duck, which likes to hang out with its relations (so does the Pune teal, for that matter).

First time I've got to see the resident otters, too - that route had been closed along with the hides - and while it was a preface to what we were there to see, a lady who comes to see them all the time assured us that this is the best place to see a pair in full sight which happens around feeding time.

The highlight for me, though, was the sight of all those lapwings - first in the air, where they do the peculiar thing of flying about in different directions,

and on the little islet where they settled with cormorants and gulls.

I'm always happy to see a great crested grebe, and especially so when Freddie had so much to tell me about its existence (he's a fan, too)

and your common-or-garden mute swan is always a beauty, especially at sunset on the main waters

with the lapwings still flying about

and the sunset just getting deeper.

8 December yielded a double whammy of another amazing sunset and nature in Fulham Palace grounds. Flowers still to be found on one of the echiums in the herbaceous border

while across the lawn in front of the Palace ambled a fox.

Out on the river, mackerel clouds were playing their part in the most amazing skies yet

which only deepened as I walked my bike along the Thames Path homewards before fading.

A rainy afternoon at the Wetlands on the19th did at least yield a lit-up head of cumulus

and dark drama over the main waters 

worth getting drenched for on the cycle home. It was more placid heading the other way on the other side to Chiswick

and heading back, there was a moon above the eyot.

but the fading of the light was more dramatic closer to Hammersmith.

and the bridge, closed for who knows how long, duly glittered.

Christmas Eve was the time to exchange presents with Sophie in Kensington Gardens - restrictions meant we decided not to join her group on the day. Brilliant light over the Round Pond

and plenty of bird activity there, albeit mostly swans, Canade geese and gulls.

Close-to-solstitial sun gleaming through the Albert Memorial

where we met our German friends Katharina and Uli for coffee at a distance, admiring the imperial groups of statuary around Albert (the Americas here)

before walking around the Serpentine, paying the usual homage to Peter Pan

and finding a brilliantly-lit swan meet the other side of the bridge.

Loud song from a coal tit on the way to Margravine Cemetery

and redwings showing off again on the usual trees.

I've covered the darkling thrush at Fulham Palace on New Year's Eve previously, and the January Fridays at Kew will get another blog spot, but here seems the right place to insert a gull shot.

The cold was closing in, and on a cycle to Battersea Park on 9 January, paying homage to the bandstand in memory of those glorious late-summer chamber concerts there (the peace temple is beyond),

I caught signs of the first freeze.

Flora in OId Chelsea Churchyard seemed unaffected

and the sunset close to home, at the Brompton Bridge, glowed on an urban scene.

 Magnolia tantalising with the promise of furry buds by the Tudor gateway at Fulham Palace on the 15th

and camellias flowering on the outside of the Walled Garden.

Heron by the Serpentine, looking across to the Henry Moore sculpture, 17 January

and a cormorant holding out its wings to dry near the bridge.

In the Margravine Cemetery on the 23rd, I met two ladies from the Fulham and Barnes Peregrines Association. They were there with their cameras - much more sophisticated than mine - and told me that the male peregrine who lives on the roof of Charing Cross Hospital, and who lost his mate last year just as their young 'un was taking his first steps, has a new one they've called Azema, who turned up a couple of months ago. This is a rather feeble shot, but there she is perching on an aerial on one of the residency blocks of CCH after much swooping and soaring against dramatic clouds.

A redwing again, looking good against a clear sky,

plus - later - the clouds and the moon at sunset.

Red-letter morning the next day - heavy snowfall outside the front window.

My geranium sidoides and rose-scented pelargonium in the back window boxes are still flowering, and all the better for a dusting of snow.

There was no time to waste - the snow wasn't going to settle for long, so I wrapped up and went out along the gardens

straight to Margravine, knowing that snow-capped angels and statuary would look good.

But there were also redwings again

here, at last, revealing why they're so called, and what distinguishes them especially from other members of the thrush family,

the solitary goldfinch illustrated up top, crocuses in the snow, 

ice on licheny branches and catkins

and eight snowmen. The most impressive was wrought by a group of jolly French people

while I admire this little fella for his catkin eyes.

By the 27th, it had nearly all gone

and crocuses were forcing their way through further among the snowdrops,

though we had a dreary freeze of four days in which wet snow dribbled endlessly against grey skies. Now, with milder weather and sustained sunshine at last, spring is on its way.