Little Venice to Abbey Road: Sporting and Musical Landmarks

a post from London Wlogger. it’s interesting that a few seconds by the Beatles on a crosswalk infused the spot with so much meaning?

London Wlogger

Welcome one and all 🙂 Last week my walk ended in Italian Gardens, and the theme of Italy continues as this week I start in Venice, well Little Venice! No Italian adventures just yet! I’ll then go along my favourite stretch of water, the Regent’s Canal, before going past The Liberal Jewish Synagogue and St John’s Wood Church. In between that I’ll be passing by Lord’s Cricket Ground and ending at a musical landmark, Abbey Road. So, let’s begin the journey!

mpp Little Venice to Abbey Road

Located near Paddington and Maida Vale, Little Venice is a scenic and very picturesque riverside area. Its history can be traced back to the 1810s when a pool was created where the Regent’s Canal and the Paddington arm of the Grand Junction Canal met. Back then it was known as the Paddington Broadwater.

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There are a couple of accounts as to where the name ‘Little Venice’…

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Meet Guest Author Richard M. Ankers…

Guest Author Richard M. Ankers…

Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

How does one make an introduction when he hates talking about himself? Hm, I know, I’ll tell you what convinced me to give up everything to write. We’ll see how that goes because it’s something only I know.

It started with a Death.

richard-m-ankersI have a bad memory bordering on terrible, so when events stick in my mind, they’re significant. Peta was there from the start. She still is in one way or another.

One of my first memories of school was the day the headmaster announced during assembly that Peta’s father had died of a brain haemorrhage or something equally terrible. We were to give her space and respect. At six one’s comprehension of such things is sketchy, but we tried.

It was particularly cruel on Peta because she was brilliant. Clever, pretty, talented — she played the flute even then — she was everything I was not. Self-confidence…

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Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Among the French Cymbalists


(symbol.crash)

She has strolled the
twenty yards among
the desperate Italians
who sleep on fine couches
beneath that crummy hotel
over Washington Square.

The wind as a Southern Storm
lifts her up to the land of
wildflowers and Irish seascapes.

Flemish belles wring

A clarion call!
An armistice! And
Felique is alone on a
subway that goes
nowhere.

As surely as the clock ticks,

Just as surely there is a way
to escape the Village

But for Felique, whose anguish
has never been televised

And whose skirts are off the rack

There is no escape to money
and romance.

 

This poem was first posted in March 2015 as a standalone piece but it’s part of the Felique Dupré in the Haunted World  prose poems.

 

Poem and Image Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

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