An early haircut on Saturday morning.

Something for the weekend, Sir?

Not in this bloody weather, thank you very much.

Rasheed underneath the Academy was on fine form. We spoke about the Universal language of football, West Norwood, and the increased growth rate of my hair.

These may, or may not be related.

The haircut was over in under five minutes.

MY kinda haircut.

Which all meant I was early for the 9am start of Brockwell Park Run.

I took up a position of shade at the lovely lido and went through my silly stretching routine.

Park Run was SCORCHIO.

Some brave fella rocked up in full St George’s costume.

Um, OK…

The pre-race went prep talk went through the usual questions:

“Any Park Run tourists?”

Yes! I’m here from Sweden!

…came a reply.

A friendly-ish boo followed.

I struggled on the first Cressingham climb, but somehow found my pace for the second attempt.

I even managed to overtake some other runners going uphill – an extreme rarity for me.

The official race time was 22’16” – fifth in my age cat.

Very happy with that.

I was in need of some purification in the waters of Lake Brockwell.

The lido queue was already snaking around to the Cafe by 9:30am.

I had no shame in queue jumping with my membership. We don’t freeze our bollocks off in mid-winter just so that we can stand around during a heatwave.

Woh! It was bloody rammed in there.

The water temperature was an insane 26 degrees – up two on 24 hour previous.

I found a relatively free lane and pushed on for twenty lengths.

There was little time – or space – to hang around.

I was due back in SW9 for the School Summer Fair.


This is the first time that the SW9 school has staged such an event. It’s actually quite incredible the major leaps and changes that have taken place in such a short space of time.

It is a school transformed 🙂

Time and tide then came-a-calling.

I was due back in the bloody Estuary Wilds with Anna, Daisy and Dotty.

The train was booked two weeks ago. This was before #ItsComingHome got going.

Oh dear.

I caught the first half and the first fifteen minutes of the second back in the flat.

There was no need to be worried about match updates.

The streets were deserted from Sunny Stockwell to Elephant, then over Ldn Bridge and up to LS.

But it was the boozers that helped me out. Each one was packed. The punters seemed VERY happy.

I arrived at LS to be greeted by a Greater Anglia announcer declaring:

“It’s Coming Home!”

Good point, well made Madam.

Now make the same a reality for the 16:44 every day and we’ll start to believe.

I arrived back in the bloody Estuary Wilds to find the usual carnage: cats, garden growth and a run on milk in the fridge.

But these can wait.

A run of work shifts carried me through until sunset.

A little BOOZE, and then bed with a smile on my face.

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