it is almost definitely autumn here now: the leaves are turning red and yellow on the very boughs and branches of trees. a sight to behold, certainly - before they fall, and the branches, denuded, proclaim the accession of winter.

but still, scarlet and gold reminds one of war, of blood and money which are its twin engines. and along parks road where the leaves fall in their hundreds or perhaps even thousands, trampled by the feet of students into the pools and puddles on the pavement, formed by yesterday's rain, and there they lay rotting, so much like the bodies of a fallen army.

M: "what a fine body of men you have there, eh, blackadder?"
B: "yes, general, soon to be fine bodies of men."

***

now where did that come from? ah well. london past 2 days, i never fail to feel that this place was once the centre of a great world empire. here the history of the world echoes in the streets, in the buildings and in the monuments. even the animals which had fallen in war have their own memorial here, reminding me so much of kipling's Her Majesty's Servants especially since the statues were those of a yoked ox and screw gun mule.

or maybe the allusion was deliberate, a clever little insertion by the sculptor now cast in bronze.

st paul's cathedral in any case was a fantastic building where the dead seemed to speak, their voices pulling the hearts of the living from the crypt, and still christopher wren's genius thunders down from the top of the magnificent dome.

i saw flowers placed on the tombs of admiral nelson, and of alexander fleming.

it would be a frightening thing if the past left no echoes and the dead no memories.