The first quiet 7am work shift for sometime.
The modern interweb is ODD.
I then started to plan for a return to South London. We’re talking Greater Anglia e-tickets.
e-anything is a bloody horrible word. Why do you need to make the digital distinction?
It’s just tickets, innit?
Anyway, tickets were sourced, pdf’s were dumped into Evernote.
I can see it all going wrong when I am checked for a ticket outside of Barking with no signal.
The stop / start work delivered the mid-morning swim break. The Trail was busy with cyclists.
Bloody cyclists.
RING, RING, etc.
It was the second consecutive day of half decent swims. The stench of chlorine underneath my fingernails is a price worth paying.
A little more work back at base. And then a bit of finishing off for the Warm and Toasty content from Walton earlier in the week.
Johnno is building something quite special here. It seems all too easy what he achieves. I don’t think he is aware that it is his unique personality that holds all this together.
Top man.
*tumblr is bloody fiddly though*
The Work Scheduling Gods smiled / frowned upon me and gave me a free afternoon.
oh.
I rolled out on a pre-Paris Roubaix ride.
Actually I did the usual Wifey Weekend Roll Out route. But Anna ‘aint around, and it’s not quite the weekend yet.
I took out the tourer, rather than the roadie. It’s a bloody comfortable ride, albeit slow.
The lanes were empty, and the bushes were heavy with blossom.
I cycled past a sign advertising a Cider and Sausage Festival at the Pointer pub.
I hope it is better than the Cider and Cheese festival that we went to a few summers back.
It was alright, except there was no cider.
Or cheese.
The Estuary Wilds sun continued to dominate my day. I had endless online admin to catch up with back at base.
Bugger to that.
I went off in search of bluebells instead.
A few local issues have led to something of a reduced bluebell-fest this spring. They’re still bloody lovely.
NEVER trust a hippie, Jase.
I was inspired to hack away at the ivy down the side passage under fading skies. My South Lambeth Road experience has taught me that IVY MUST DIE.
There.
Did it.
Daisy and Dotty were oblivious to all this activity. They were out for the count on my bed in the attic.
I have learnt that you need to make the most of these opportunities around the garden. I watered the lawn, rather than watering Daisy.
That girl is not right in the head.
Anna returned late in the day from South London.
We celebrated with some BOOZE.
I’m buggering off back home to Sunny Stockwell in the morning.
It’s a BIG lido and cricket weekend coming up.
ACE.