Only a mild t20 hangover to start Saturday morning. I was expecting a t20 slog of the head, given the BOOZE performance at recent Oval outings.
Which meant that I was fighting fit for Brockwell Park Run.
My timing was good on the road. I managed the magical ride of Sunny Stockwell all the way to the edges of Herne Hill with a run of green lights.
This is the End Days of the Raleigh 20. I’m hopefully replacing it on Sunday with a Moulton Mini.
I don’t give it any love in London. The tyres resemble a ploughed field; the chain needs tightening and the gears slip when you are least expecting.
My own body was in need of a bit of Brockwell Park Run love as well.
Saturday morning saw the return of Madam Pacemaker, post-pregnancy. Six weeks after giving birth and she was back to take on the slopes of Brockwell.
I wasn’t paced by Madam Pacemaker though. She warned me of a 24 minute time – something that I would have rather enjoyed tbh.
Instead I picked up the pace with another female runner who I ran Brockwell with a couple of weeks ago.
It was the same predictable pattern: we pushed each other around the first circuit, and then she sprinted ahead up BMX Hill.
I tried to catch up on the second descent of the Tulse Hill side of the park. She was way on course for a PB somewhere in the distance.
The lovely lido was… OK.
Boy – it was BUSY.
What do you expect for a Saturday morning, peak season?
I had plans for twenty lengths. I had to bail out after fourteen, such was the business of the water.
Some decent chats followed – Hendo and the winter Icicles.
A Family of Wetsuits were the star attraction.
I first clocked Mr Wetsuit and his two young fellas in the gents.
“FOLLOW ME, CHAPS!”
…he barked as he marched them out to the waters of Lake Brockwell.
Except he marched them up to the waters of the toilets of Lake Brockwell, realised his error, and then marched them down again.
Mrs Wetsuit and a young girlie wetsuit joined them poolside.
It was really sweet tbh. The Icicles watched on as the Family Wetsuit went through a fitness drill poolside.
I’m still not sure if were being pranked.
I left the lido and cycled on to le Velo. I’m booked in for a couple of weeks for my re-introduction to the track.
Saturday morning saw a bicycling jumble sale.
I bought rack bag for my tourer and the CTC club runs back in Sunny Colch.
A rather cosy gilet was also snaffled up for the autumn months ahead.
It was pleasing to see My Lycra manning his lycra stall. I’ve been buying up cheapo tops from him for over a decade now.
Folk often stop me and ask:
“Ahh – are you a member of the Crawley Wheelers?”
Um, nope. I buy cheapo lycra.
We had a decent chat about the Good Friday Herne Hill meets of the past. It is such a shame that the prestigious meet was lost to Stratford.
I cycled back through Brixton.
An enterprising market trader had set up a Bowie stall right opposite the Bowie mural.
Specsavers was on my shopping list. A very friendly fella very kindly re-fitted a pair of specs that I bought over a year ago that I have never really got on with.
The plan was for a full on afternoon running around town.
But the skies bruised and Sunny Stockwell took a bloody soaking.
I waited until mid-afternoon, and then cycled over to Newport Street.
I’ve been trying to see the Anthony Bickerton exhibition for some weeks now. The ongoing flat renovations have always got in the way.
It was well worth the wait.
I’m not sure if Damien Hurst is curating the gallery, but every exhibition so far has been pitched perfectly.
Newport Street is proving to be London’s cheekiest of gallery spaces.
I crossed at Lambeth Bridge and hit the West End.
@RobertElms has been banging on of late about the recent changes made to Phoenix Garden – a community space sitting in the unlikely surrounds of St Giles.
There is so much topological crap round this patch. Phoenix Garden somehow holds all the layers of depravity together.
It was BEAUTIFUL.
My Raleigh 20 then came close to letting me down.
I had a work shift back at base at 8pm. The bloody chain dislodged along TCR.
I HATE getting my hands dirty. I ended up a right West End mucky pup, forcing the chain back on and getting oiled up.
It’s been a decent run around town bicycle. But it needs to go.
I’m hopeful of some Moulton love in the morning.