The Potravini Bench

Shortly after my father, Joseph Anthony Gerard Morrissey, passed away in 2009, I discovered three handwritten diary entries on loose A4 sheets. He had already typed up and published many other entries on a Slovakian website, which is unfortunately no longer online. 

I do not know who wrote these pages or how to trace the author, 

so I am sharing them here to finish what he started.

If you have any information about these entries or recognise who might have written them, 

please get in touch by leaving a message or sending an email.

Enjoy reading.

The Potravini Bench

There is a small village General Store at the bottom of the three-kilometre lane from our village to the parent village of Hronská Dúbrava. In front of its steps is a dilapidated bench, lurching under a bedraggled conifer. In front of the bench are two used car tyres which, once upon a time, must have contained flowers. However, currently they contain nothing but assorted weeds and a million-or-so cigarette butts. These giant vehicular ashtrays are surrounded by dust in the summer and a quagmire of mud in the winter. In clement weather, the bench is occupied by a small congregation of out-of-work drunks, who gather there with their dogs, fags, and the cheapest bottled beer in the village. In our village, you can buy a bottle of beer, drink it outside, and return the bottle for the deposit, which is put down on the next bottle. Of course, the beer is supplemented by surreptitious bottles of home-distilled Slivo.  

Our village drunk and executive is Jay, a regular. The most regular regular. The bench has the inestimable advantage of being adjacent both to the nearest beer for Jay and, just a few metres away, the village graveyard, where his late partner lies buried. So Jay can kill two birds with one stone—or should I say, two kidneys with one beer. He can deposit an armful of half-dead flowers higgledy-piggledy on the grave and guzzle a bellyful of beer at the same time.

By some miracle, Jay gets a 4,000 Koruna pension. This after a lifetime's non-contribution to any known, or unknown, pension scheme. Jay had, on the death of his partner, discovered religion, but not the attributes that go with it, like sobriety; he asserts to all and sundry that his undeserved pension is a blessing from God to his deserving, 'returning to the fold' sheep. He has got the Bible-thumping, self-justifying jargon of the born-again down to a tee.  

He ought to run for the American presidency: his ignorance, stupidity, and incompetence, together with his cunning, should have him in with a good chance. His main handicap is that he can speak in complete, syntactically correct sentences when not drunk. It is clear to the rest of us that his pension is the result of some monumental, post-communist, bureaucratic cock-up. Not divine intervention.  

Horace Herbert Robinson: The Collector of Nightingale Road

The Collector of Nightingale Road: The Story of Horace 'Robbie' Robinson

Born in Palmers Green, London, on August 15th, 1896, Horace Herbert Robinson, known to all as 'Robbie', joined Lloyds Bank as a young man in 1914. After marrying his longtime friend, Mildred Manton, in 1929, Robbie embarked on a lifelong career with the bank that spanned over four decades.

In 1940, he moved to Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire, ultimately settling at 76 Nightingale Road in 1948. He remained with Lloyds until his retirement in 1956, stepping down as the respected manager of their bustling Great Portland Street branch and living out the rest of his days in the Hertfordshire community he had grown to call home.

A Veritable Museum

From an early age, Robbie was a compulsive collector of anything that took his fancy. Collecting became his principal hobby throughout his life, with the result that his house on Nightingale Road became a veritable museum.

Walking with family and friends: Baker Street to The Regent's Park... and beyond

Wednesday August 12, 2026.
Sunny with a high of 33°C (91.4°F)

Another day and another adventure. 

The annual summer fête, at Croxley Business Park, was our first stop, today. Erin and Keilyn had both been before, but Emma, myself and Steve had never visited, so that had to be rectified. Erin, although up and ready for another adventure, was feeling a little under the weather from yesterday's epic walk and decided that she would go to Croxbury, as it had been named this year, but would not go to London after.

We left home and made the short walk towards Croxley Business Park, stopping at Greggs to buy some lunch which was eaten on the benches outside the store. As the girls tucked into their food Keilyn spotted Steve crossing the road and yelled out his name. Steve, ever the entertainer, covered his face and turned away at a pace, disappearing out of sight, but reappeared moments later. Keilyn's face went through a mixture of emotions in those few seconds. Steve purchased some food and before long we were heading towards the sports field, adjacent to Croxley Common Moor.

The drive was lined with flags and banners, with us being greeted at the entrance by four ladies on stilts, wearing rainbow-coloured wigs. Once on the sports field we headed for the shade of a tent and purchased some raffle tickets, while Keilyn bought some candy floss. We then had a wander around the field, where a stage had been set up with a band doing Oasis covers among others. A bouncy castle and bouncy slide along with face-painting stalls and a man making balloon shapes entertained the little ones. 

There were two fun fair rides set up along the other side. A Ferris wheel and another ride for older kids. It was about this time that Steve announced that he had never been on a Ferris wheel. This needed correcting. So, Keilyn and I joined the queue, with Steve and Erin behind us. Soon we were clambering aboard and once secured into our seats waited for everyone else to take their seats. As each seat filled our seat moved higher, until all of the seats were full. Then the ride began.

For a good few minutes we took in the sights and sounds offered by the ride. The massive expanse of Croxley Moor, to our right, and the business park to our left. When the ride finished we found ourselves at the top and so I was able to turn in my seat and take a photo of Erin and Steve, who were behind us, with Croxley spread out behind them.

On exiting the ride we found Emma, who had been watching us from a bench, and made a move towards the exit. After saying our "Goodbyes", Emma and Erin made their way back through the business park, while Steve, Keilyn and I went through a gate onto Croxley Moor. It turns out that Steve had never walked across the moor! We made our way along the dusty tracks, passing bushes and trees, while rabbits darted in and out of cover, until we reached the River Gade. Here we stopped to take in the view along the river, with small fish swimming just below the surface of the crystal clear water. 

Tower Hill Sundial

The Tower Hill Sundial is a unique, ground-level horizontal dial located just outside the Tower Hill Underground Station in London. Functioning as both a functional timekeeper and an intricate pictorial history book, the monument details nearly 2,000 years of the city's past.

Commissioned by London Underground Ltd, the site was unveiled on August 3, 1992, transforming an empty plaza space into a designated public garden and seating area. The space was envisioned by landscape architect John Chitty, who conceived the idea of a giant sundial at its centre, while the renowned English sculptor Edwin Russell was commissioned to bring the historical reliefs to life. Today, the gardens serve as a circular, raised viewing platform overlooking the Tower of London, where tour groups regularly convene to take in the history over the road.

Design and Historical Highlights

At the centre of the dial, just below the large gnomon, sits a prominent bronze anchor, a nod to the dial's close proximity to the River Thames and the historic Pool of London. Radiating outward from this centre is a 3.7 metre (12.14 feet) high bronze band circumscribed by detailed high-relief sculptures.

This outer ring winds chronologically through the history of London and its transport system, stretching from the founding of the Roman city of Londinium in AD 43 right through to the completion of the Thames Barrier in 1982. The reliefs depict iconic milestones, including the construction of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, the early omnibus services, and the devastating impacts of the Great Fire and the Blitz.

Walking with family and friends: St John's Wood to King's Cross... and beyond

Tuesday August 11, 2026

Sunny with a high of 26°C (78.8°F)

Yesterday my family, myself and our friend Steve should have been on a flight to Lanzarote, for a well deserved holiday. Unfortunately, due to issues at the hotel, and with no other options available, our holiday was cancelled. But, we will get the money back and we still have great weather here in the UK. With that in mind, Steve, Erin and myself decided to head off to London.

Erin and I met up with Steve at Watford underground station, where we boarded a Baker Street-bound train, that we took to Finchley Road. From here we crossed the platform and continued our journey to St John's Wood, via the Jubilee line.

On exiting the station we headed south along Finchley Road, before turning along Circus Road, where we stopped at the Tesco Express to grab some snacks and extra drinks. From here we travelled along St John's Wood High Street where I discovered well-kept rows of coal hole covers. Usually these have been removed or worn away. But here, there were rows of up to thirteen covers still in situ. St John's Wood High Street brought us to Prince Albert Road, where we joined the Regent's Canal at the North Gate.

The towpath was remarkably quiet as we made our way eastward, passing beneath the Macclesfield 'Blow Up' Bridge before passing by the Snowdon Aviary. The aviary, opened in 1965, was Britain's first walk-through aviary. housing many exotic birds. Today it has been reimagined, following a multi-million pound renovation, and is now called Monkey Valley, and is home to eastern black-and-white colobus monkeys. As we passed we could see the monkeys with their bushy white tails, munching on branches and clambering along ropes.