The first Brockwell Park Run of the New Year.
As ever - get the excuses in early.
I woke up with a stiff back. I’ll take anything that’s stiff in my time of life to be honest.
I think I have broken my my big toe on my right foot as well.
Of course it’s not broken Jase, but y’know. It’s not right.
And I had an especially large bowl of Bran Flakes at 8am.
What I’m basically trying to say is that Saturday morning wasn’t a morning for a PB.
It was a morning though for mass public participation. The field was close to 500 runners at the flag was dropped at 9am outside the lido.
It’s been a few weeks since I last ran Brockwell. I’ve not been missing that climb up to Cressingham.
I kept a steady pace, hopeful of a sub 22 minute time.
Confirmation came later in the morning that I had only gone and clocked a Park Run PB.
Woh!
The official race time was 21’23” - nine seconds faster than the time that I thought I wouldn’t be able to better.
I celebrated with a can of Spesh on the bus home.
Only joking.
The serious business was about to begin down by the bitingly cold blue waters of Lake Brockwell.
We are still hovering around the 4 degrees mark for water temperature. This isn’t much fun if I am being brutally frank.
But you sign up as an Icicle to see you through the whole winter season.
Four lengths, and then a dash back to the gents for a steaming hot shower.
It was LOVELY to catch up with Jonathan for a chat. This is the first time that I have seen him seeing watching Pride.
He was very open in answering my questions about a film based around a particular period in his life.
What a STAR.
A quick dash back to the flat, and then I set off from Sunny Stockwell to the Tea House Theatre down the road in Vauxhall.
The local landscape is becoming unrecognisable almost by the week 🙁
Awaiting for me at The Tea House was Red Maz of Bal’ham, and Anna.
OH HAI there Wifey.
The sausage bap was bloody brilliant.
The threesome then had a morning of art over at Newport Street. The Gavin Turk exhibition was especially playful.
It’s incredible to think that this backstreet Vauxhall location is now the home of one of the most forward thinking art galleries in London.
Red Maz remarked that the size is spot on. It doesn’t overwhelm like the Tate Modern does. You can visit for half an hour, and feel that you have really engaged with the artist exhibiting.
The plan was then for an afternoon in the West End, looking at bloody bathrooms in John Lewis.
Red Maz suggested that we walked.
It was a charming Saturday luncheon stroll over the Hungerford Bridge and through to the West End.
Bloody Garden Bridge.
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) January 7, 2017
Red Maz of Bal’ham buggered off to Bal’ham, leaving Anna and I on bloody bathroom duties.
Woh.
Where to start?
And so it's come to this: Oxford St John Lewis on a Saturday afternoon, looking at bloody bathrooms.
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) January 7, 2017
I had my usual panic attack as I walked past the make up counter. I live in fear of having over-priced perfume sprayed at me each time that I enter.
Mr Bathroom Man was very patient with us. We had a pre-booked appointment, with a view to trashing the South Lambeth Road bathroom and starting afresh.
The tenants make a half decent job of trying to trash it for us…
Mr Bathroom made a comment about “being free.” Anna interpreted this as a comment on his sexuality, and made a suitable reply.
It wasn’t.
Oh dear.
We looked around at shower unit after shower unit.
You haven’t lived if you haven’t spent a Saturday afternoon in John Lewis, asking if you can sit down on a toilet, just to test the elbow space for whenever you might fancy a crafty read.
Progress was made, extra appointments entered the diary.
We caught the tube back to Sunny Stockwell. Some yoof vaulted the ticket barrier. You don’t see that very often these days.
And then Anna did her one woman removal job, taking a chair back to Essex, via the comfort of Greater Anglia.
I was left in South London, watching a rather entertaining Arsenal Vs PNE, and then the BDO darts.
A decent day, Comrades.