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Also along the canal there appear to be pirates.

On one side of the canal is the path, on the other side the properties go down to the water along a fairly steep incline. Each property has a long strip of garden which opens on to the water. They look like nice properties, with bigger gardens than most in the neighbourhood, and because of the canal, the gardens get more sunlight than the pocket-handkerchief gardens surrounded by two-story houses that most of us have.

Looking into people’s gardens is one of the joys of walking along the canal, and I have always wondered about these guys – they don’t seem very rapacious, or maybe they’re actually hackers, who knows?

is not like the other ones.

There have been ducklings for some time now, and I knew I had to go and photograph them. Of the four or so duck families on the canal, this is the only yellow duckling. THere is a pair of white ducks further dow, whose babies I haven’t seen yet – could this one be a changeling from them, I wonder?

While I was watching there was something of a squabble between him and some siblings, but he rushed over to the mama duck and she protected him, so at least he’s well loved by someone.

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by geometric patterns. I drew them constantly when I was a kid, and still doodle them all the time. My notebooks (which are square-ruled), are covered in doodles of geometric patterns.

I am fascinated by quilts and other evidence of patterns, such as this carpet, which lives in the living room. This is just the central motif – the carpet itself is about four times this size.

I also love the tiny amount of sky blue – it just lifts the whole thing up.

It’s been a while, a busy busy, sick and more busy while. Sorry.

Martin and I really like old bottles and containers. This one, he picked up from a fleamarket vendor in Rosebank and I suspect it still contains what it says on he tin, although we’ve never tested it.

Rosebank used to have a proper flea market, second-hand stuff, homemade cakes, old books, all sorts of enjoyable miscellania. Over the years, however, it has gotten posher and posher, and the last time I was there, last winter, it was all designer honey and artisan bread and handmade jewellery, still lovely in its own way, but not quite the same. Because of this, a kind of alternative flea market sprung up in the neighbourhood, next to Johnnic (now Avusa)’s offices. This is the real deal, second-hand clothing, old kitchen kit, and this old guy with the most interesting collection of stuff, including this, which has now traveled through three countries with us, breaking all sorts of laws along the way, we assume.

The weather continues to get nicer and nicer, and now that daylight saving is on, I can actually walk home along the canal without have to tackle the treacherous paths in the dark (not actually treacherous, of course, the British would not allow that, but paved with dogshit).

This tree clearly did not get the memo that it’s spring, but its time will come, I’m sure.

Still no ducklings or swans, though.

We went to the canal this afternoon, in the hopes of seeing baby ducks and coots, but all we found were drakes and male coots. I assume the females are all sitting on eggs, or at least I hope so.

In any case, these drakes gave us a fine example of synchronised swimming, with a nod to seventies decor as well. What more could you want?

I have a bad relationship with hair stylists (and waxers, and masseurs, and even physiotherapists and dentists – people who do things to my body). I don’t dislike having my hair done, but I always feel self-conscious asking for things, and unable to explain what I want, and secretly thinking how much they much hate working on my hair, and who am I fooling, anyway, trying to look nice. Plus, the noise and the trying to make conversation over it, it all adds up to a bad experience for all concerned (or at least for me).

Throughout my life, I have worn my hair two ways – long, straight, unaltered and usually tied back or up, and short, really short. Sometimes, it’s been in transition between those two states, but it’s usually one or the other, on a kind of five-year cycle. This is about two years into short, and I somehow don’t think I’m going back. In fact, I’d like it even shorter, but I suspect I’d look a bit TOO scary. This was done today, and for the first time, I’ve gone a bit blonder, rather than redder or darker. I’m not sure about it, but there it is, it’s just hair.

This is one of three little glass lamps I bought in Delhi. One green, one amber and one indigo. I think of these lamps as Arabian, since they were for sale all across Dubai, but I suspect they’re common across the region. I love lamps and candles and so on, which is odd, because my usual choice of actual lighting is blinding. I hate not being able to see. I suppose I should say that I love the idea of lamps and candles – probably the dregs of my catholic upbringing coming out.

This is a black-faced dorper sheep, a particularly South African sheep, bred for the Karoo, mostly. I used to be a vegetarian, and one of the reasons I’m not any more is because in many parts of the world, the terrain is simply not suited to growing crops, and the only way to survive is to find the toughest, hardiest animals you can, and breed them for meat. This is the point of the dorper sheep – very little thrives in the karoo, and one cannot live on prickly pears alone (nice as they are).

Obviously, this is not an actual sheep. I bought her in Johannesburg, and as a piece of beadwork she wasn’t cheap, but I was so taken with her curly coat I had to have her.

I am really enjoying spring, I must say. It’s sunny, it’s slightly crisp, but not too cold, things are sprouting, birds are singing. Tomorrow I think I’m going to go to the canal to look for ducklings. I’m starting to understand all that English poetry about the wonders of spring in this country.