It was a hangover heavy bicycle ride over to Brockwell Park early on Sunday morning.
Greeting me at the gates was le gai pensionnaire – a fitting meet ‘n’ greet, seeing as though he has written a book all about the… gates to Brockwell Park.
The occasion was the monthly car boot sale for the Friends of Brockwell Park.
I had a little look around. The tip was to keep the cycling shades on. Sellers then can’t eyeball you and make a judgement on the seriousness of your sales enquiry.
Some old school punk fella was turfing out his entire record collection. It was a little sad to see.
I did a bit of digging in the crates. He had what seemed to be a complete Three Johns discography.
I removed the shades in excitement. The old school punk fella saw straight through me.
The lovely lido was calling. It was a lot calmer after 8am compared to the post-Park Run carnage the day before.
My cricket hangover held me back. I only managed a lame twelve lengths.
I cycled back to Sunny Stockwell, and then walked it up South Lambeth Road towards Nine Elms.
The main purpose was for a brief perusal at the Nine Elms market, ahead of another Oval appearance.
Anna and I use to go here a couple of times a year back in the day. It was always a little grim a decade or so ago.
Not a lot had changed.
I’m not sure why I returned today.
The main change is in the surrounding landscape.
The Nu Vauxhall is WOH.
I actually quite appreciate pockets of the Nu utopian city. The old Vauxhall was in need of a little love. The complete obliteration is probably a step too far.
I found it fascinating how the wealth of the Nu Vauxhall overlooks the almost medieval set up of the market.
Never the twain shall meet.
Most of the goods on sale were of the cheapo knocked off variety. I learnt my lesson back in the Fair City in 1982, buying a knocked off Rubik’s Snake that fell apart after five minutes.
I lingered a little watching one of the many three cups and a ball con artists. £40 a pop was being exchanged. I couldn’t tell who was genuine, and who was part of the set up.
I’m in no rush to return to Nine Elms. Both the old and the Nu Vauxhall aren’t for me.
I know which side of the financial fence is going to win this particular turf war though.
I walked back along the Harleyford Road, Oval bound for another Sunday on the piss with the ‘rrey.
It was bloody GLORIOUS.
Soon I was sitting in the Peter May sun terrace with the other pissheads. Trott and Bell were batting out in the middle.
What a time to be alive, etc.
I took it a little easy on the BOOZE front. I actually returned with one can unopened in my cooler bag.
A drunken photo shoot around Sunny Stockwell put a smile on my face as I walked back home at the close of play.
Drunken housework in the flat was a little less appealing.
I am very sunburnt, btw.