Another morning spent once again in the blue waters of Lake Brockwell. I really should make this more of a daily routine.
My head hurt for the first length. I had become blasé following the ease of the Brockwell swim from the day before.
It took a bit of an effort to find my rhythm for Friday. I wouldn’t say that my body had warmed up by the fourth length, but the sharp pins of cold pain weren’t attacking me for the remaining six lengths.
I had a little extra time to spend with the other Icicles. The gypo caravan sauna became VERY friendly for 8:30am.
I marveled once again in the gents at Jonathan’s workman kilt.
The bastard.
He pulls it off, so to speak, with absolute perfection.
I considered briefly buying a kilt and trying to get away with it in a South London school. I took a bit of a hit with the cravats to be honest.
I had a work free morning to get things in order back at South Lambeth Road.
First up for Friday morning was the front garden.
I cleaned it up from all of the SW8 clutter only a couple of weeks ago. The assortment of chicken bones, beer cans and used condoms only builds up unless you regularly make an effort to dispose of it all.
I have a special pair of heavy duty gardening gloves for the task. I was hopeful of clocking the SW8 Coffee Ponce Daniel Ruiz Tizon as I went about my obsessive behaviour.
For the record I picked up six chicken wings and one used condom.
I wonder if the wings were eaten by the same person / couple that also made use of the used condom?
And were they a pre or post condom sharing treat?
I retreated indoors and did the housework.
The windows were also cleaned. Each time I attempt these from indoors I move a step closer to an unhappy ending from the second floor of a South Lambeth Road flat.
Even the used condoms probably wouldn’t cushion my fall.
A spot of Lidl luncheon, and then out went the shout of:
“To the Fair City! Via the splendour of St Pancras!”
I had family duties back in Nottingham to attend to.
The train train journey was awkward. East Midlands Trains had buggered up with the seat reservations.
A rather large lady was sitting in the seat that I had reserved. I didn’t have the bottle to ask her to shift.
A knock on effect was then played out throughout the whole carriage.
Someone asked me to move out of their seat, and so on and so on.
If only the rather large lady hadn’t plonked herself down on my seat.
And the adjacent seat as well.
The situation eventually settled down. I drifted off to sleep listening to the Lexicon of Love Part II, an album that I seem to have ignored over the past three or four months.
I woke up outside the King Power in the City of Death. I felt like falling asleep once again.
The journey back to the family home involved crossing Trent Bridge.
Eyes left and there we have it: The City Ground - HOME.
There’s always been a Forza Garibaldi attitude to my football allegiances, Comrades; but I’m afraid I’m missing the Wolves match tomorrow to watch a gymnastics display involving my nephew.
Whoops.
Friday evening came to a close with a family meal at my sister’s house.
I’m trying out a new Park Run route in the morning.