My friend Lucy has moved to the Barbican, lucky her.
She has a key that unlocks the gates into the private gardens and offered me a tour, lucky me! Time to revisit the Barbican.
It was a cold wet day in the middle of December. We clutched cups of coffee as we walked, warming our hands as we talked. The sky was unaturally, brightly grey which was painful to peer up at. The concrete slabs of the Barbican were gravely pronounced against the sky and appeared blotchy and stained as they gradually dried out.
We had the place to ourselves and saw only two other people who hurried past, oblivious to the landscape. Lucy took me into gardens and we walked along a sunken walkway in the middle of the green, murky lake which had a series of hidden benches tucked away off it, perfect for secret assignments in better weather. It was too cold to sit down, so Lucy and I climbed onto the low wall and fed the serious faced ducks who sensed something to their advantage and powered over to claim their share from the four corners of the lake. Not to be left out, twenty or thirty large carp climbed to the surface and stole some bread for themselves, scattering the complaining ducks.
As we took a turn around a final garden we were challenged by a couple of over-friendly squirrels who danced up to our very toes I walked to one side to avoid my squirrel but he leapt in from of me. I moved to the other side but he came and blocked that route as well. Just six inches from my toes, the little fellow looked up as though demanding some kind of fee in return for our safe passage. It felt like he was about to run up my legs. I stepped back and he advanced towards me. Lucy got the giggles as her squirrel had pinned her down.
“Oh my goodness, what are we going to do?” she laughed. “It is like they are human.”
“Have you got any more bread?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she snorted as her squirrel reared up on its hind legs and walked towards her. She rummaged in her pockets and found the almost empty bag.
“Two bits left,” she said, pulling out the remaining bread.
“Perfect,” I took one piece and offered it to my squirrel who crept up and took it before running off.
Lucy’s squirrel had also disappeared with the final piece of bread.
We walked on. I have to admit to being relieved, I didn’t fancy a squirell running up my legs.
“Look,” whispered Lucy.
I followed her pointed finger.
One of the squirrels had hidden himself on the ground behind a tree trunk to eat his bread but the little chap was revealed as we walked past. He seemed to spot us out of the corner of his eye but didn’t move, he just carried on eating as quickly as he could and seemed to ignore us walking towards him. Lucy crouched low to take photos of him and got within a couple of feet before he gobbled down the last few crumbs, smiled up at her and then skipped away into the undergrowth.
We took this to be the end of our visit. Lucy invited me to return in summer when we could have a picnic. We’d better bring enough for the local animals.
