Weeping Window

This gorgeous bright day had us scampering out for a walk after breakfast pancakes. We soaked up the sun in Brockwell Park, watching a whippet in a cosy coat run circles around a Jack Russell, a lady being photographed in the wind holding a scarf at many angles, and lots of people exercising in various ways. We just sat on a bench, Fred sun-worshipping and I with my head in a book. 

We headed to Brixton, browsed in Morley's, and caught a number 159 bus to the Imperial War Museum. A friend had told me that the poppies were about to go, so it seemed a good excuse to visit. I've been to the museum only once before. I find it a hard place to go for an afternoon out – the reality being all too hard. We saw the Making a New World exhibition, which was well worth the visit. We were very surprised at how long it took for the British soldiers to return after the Armistice – sometimes up to two years. The unreasonable delay caused riots and some of the soldiers were killed. Horrendous. I believe I read that some 44,000 soldiers had lost a limb. There were centres to rehabilitate these soldiers and create new skills for them to be able to work, but many centres soon ran out of funding. Hard times.

We ventured to the top exhibition space and that really sent chills through me – the twisted wreck of a window from one of the World Trade Center towers; a suicide vest that had been made safe in Afghanistan; a replica of the Little Boy nuclear bomb... we went home shortly after that.

We've chilled out since. Dora came in from nextdoor and Juno glared at her while she played with his string. Fred made a cauliflower curry. Nom. I Facetimed Mum who's staying in the caravan with her sister – they were up dancing until midnight last night (Auntie Liz knows all the moves to Footloose, apparently).