It was our last day in Greenwich, and with an awkward three hours to kill we decided to take one last walk, find some food, and do one or two last minute shopping things.
The ground in the park and on most streets was covered ankle deep in a golden brown covering the likes of which we had never seen before (except in movies of course). The Poms called them "Autumn Leaves".
When I said "most" streets, I meant EVERY street, except for the Part of Romney Road which runs in front of the Maritime Museum and the Queen's House, which had been cleaned to within an inch of its life by a man who was clearly on a mission.
"You seem to be on some sort of mission" we called cheerily as we passed.
It must have been smoko time, because for the next fifteen minutes (at least) we were regailed by tales of how difficult life is.
His responsibility "you see", is for the whole block from King Willam Walk to Park Row, and because "they" don't have the funds, "them on the other side of the fence; the history people", they use leaf blowers to pile all the leaves up near the fence when the Southerly winds are coming, so all the leaves blow out onto his patch of footpath. He'd been there since "5 o'clock this morning".
He had another three months of work he reckoned before it was all over, then it'd be nearly spring "and the tourists'll be back". We didn't ask him how he disposed of the tourists, but presumed he'd have to use something larger than the pillow-case sized plastic bags he used for the leaves.
Then again he had one of those fantastic twig brooms favoured as flying machines by all self-respecting witches. Maybe...... no he couldn't possibly........
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