Nothing signals the start of the weekend more than a 6am text saying:
Your scheduled delivery will take place between 7am and 9am.
Oh goody.
And so… The Delivery Man Delivers:
A Chesterfield armchair.
We deliberately selected a different to colour to the Chesterfield settee. It would never match up if we tried to go for the same colour coordination.
In all the early morning excitement I didn’t realise that the wrong colour had actually been delivered.
No worries.
I rather like it.
I now have an official South Lambeth Road tea drinking chair.
The early morning start meant that I was in good time for the lovely lido.
I arrived just after 8:30am - sadly a little too late to see the breaking of the ice for the first time this season - the dictionary definition of being a Brockwell Icicle.
The water temperature has dipped to 3 degrees overnight. It was bloody BRUTAL.
I managed four lengths, and then fell over on the side of the pool.
FUCK FUCK FUCKEY FUCK etc.
I made the strategic move to the indoor spa. I arsed around whilst the Park Runners ran past on the other side of the window.
I am still claiming a broken foot for the reason keeping me away from pounding the pavements.
I haven’t got a broken foot.
Back at South Lambeth Road and I gave the front garden a bit of a tidy. A lone lavender flower has dared to emerge from underneath the ground frost.
I feel very optimistic for the year ahead.
SW8 gardening sessions always lead to SW8 conversations. You can guarantee that some folk will stop and have a bit of a catch up with you.
Saturday morning saw some gawblimey Lambeth old boy strolling up for a South London chinwag.
He asked me if I knew what our flat use to be back in the 60’s.
“An opticians”
…I replied.
The unique front garden railings in the design of a pair of spectacles is a bit of a dead giveaway, Guvnor.
He high fived me ahead of fifteen minutes or so of sharing local SW8 history.
It was all going so well until he ended the conversation with:
“I blame the immigrants.”
Oh dear.
I cycled off after luncheon out West. The newly rehoused Design Museum over at High St Ken was on my radar.
Sadly my radar was f-ed.
I thought that I would try some back routes through Battersea, on to the King’s Road and then up around Earl’s Court.
I almost ended up on the Hammersmith flyover.
Oh dear.
It all meant that I arrived at the Design Museum a little late in the afternoon and feeling slightly weary.
I remember attending some IT presser back in the day at the old Commonwealth Institute. This must have been around ’97 [?]
I haven’t been back in the building since.
The structure inside is impressive. It’s just a shame that most of the floors are ticketed, with the free public access space over capacity.
It reminded me of the David Bowie Is exhibition - probably bloody brilliant, but without the crowds.
I looked around at the space frame Moulton, the Apple family of computers and for some strange reason a Motorway sign pointing the way to Nottingham.
I’m still working on Anna about a return to the Fair City.
I didn’t hang around long in West Ldn. I wanted to be back at base before it was dark.
A little housework, and then out went the cry of:
“To E&C!”
Blimey.
Back in the day and we use to BOOZE it big time around The Elephant with Anna’s PhD pals. We all still meet up each year, in the same boozer, and drink about half the amount of alcohol that we were once capable of.
It was a charming evening.
Sadly I had to do a runner long before last orders.
Anna was staying in South London, and do I was summoned to be on kitten duty back *over there*
Hey hoe 🙁