Whitelands of Wanstead

Went early in the pouring rain to the Wanstead Art Trail.  Nothing changes, do it? One stop from dirty filthy Leyton and there’s Wanstead with village green stuff all about. I’ve never done the High Street before. Years and years ago when you were a twinkle in the sky I went there to interview a black playwright, the only black man in the countryside then. His name liveth on.

Anyway the Art Trail is just a sales fest. No chance to stand and stare as the works are in shops, mostly charity shops maybe, with early morning bargain-hunters getting in the way. Or the places weren’t yet open. Anna had her work displayed in sellophane. I know! Really it should have been or should be The Sally Asbury Trail. Her mosaic work is superb. I so want her mirror with lace but dental fees must be paid. It’s kinda hippy and spiritual but in the ways of humankind.

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Never did see Vawda’s work yet. It was getting busier and the rain was driving me nuts as I tried to hold onto my precious cargoes wrapped badly by shop owners and staff who get nothing for their involvement. The bus back was snailish. What’s new?

Dying for a burger.

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