A return to running on Wednesday, a return to lovely Larkhall Park.
I pinged my left ankle a couple of weeks ago pounding the mean streets of CO7. Ping is probably not the correct medical term. But it was painful.
In years, decades gone by, I would have brushed this off as a minor injury and carried on running the next morning.
I’ve left it a fortnight. There must be some sliding ratio balancing actual running injury risk with your perceived recovery time.
My sliding scale is having a mid-life crisis. It still thinks that I am in my mid 20’s.
Oh dear.
I crossed South Lambeth Road. I didn’t even make it until the majestic Stockwell Bus Garage before I thought, hang on, that ping is still pinging.
Like a FOOL, I persisted. I hate seeing an incomplete Strava circuit. No Strava, no run, right?
I was only attempting a very short 3km double loop of lovely Larkhall. I tried to run it off.
The park smelt gloriously autumnal. I was wearing a long sleeved running top. Finally the grass mounds of Larkhall have been mowed for the first time this season.
The Polish table tennis crew were having their pre-work warm up. I was rather envious.
I made it back to the flat with a slight limp. Five minutes later and my ankle felt fine.
Same again tomorrow?
I should listen to my mid-life crisis - and not just in reference to running, either.
Buzzed: Financial questions surround Fusion’s management of Brockwell Lido
“If Lambeth had a clue about how to manage its contractors then it would be all over this”
I didn’t enjoy researching or publishing this story. The mis-management of the Lido in recent years has been a heartbreaker.
I’ve stayed away due to being inked up every other month. But the state of the toilets and showers is something that puts me off returning.
If I’m going to pay £300+ for membership, then the least I can expect is a warm shower after a swim. My Serpentine membership is £20 a YEAR.
A brief Lidl run followed. Another GoCycle G4i passed me. And then a CHPT3 Brompton. Both bicycles were head turners around twelve months ago. Now I seem to see them out in the wild almost daily.
The van opposite the flat that has been parked there since the summer of 2021 remains… parked there. This is really WEIRD.
It’s a clapped out old banger, parked in a resident parking bay. I remember seeing it first appear. A couple of geezers wasted no time in hand painting it black.
OK…
It’s not shifted since. No surprises that it’s also now covered in S Ldn tags, as well as having weeds growing up past the wheels.
I did speculate that maybe it’s an undercover surveillance van. But looking at what? And for more than two years?
Some people will go a long way to reserve a resident parking spot.
The Healthy Living milk float then drove down South Lambeth Road. That was a pleasant sight. It was a real throwback to growing up in the early 70’s.
I attempted a brief front garden hack. Operation Beat the Rain was my main focus. Some winter bulbs have started to spring up. I’ve no idea what they are, or who the chuffers planted them.
I started to clean the windows. The rain started to fall, natch.
An email dropped from the Rowing Club, inviting me to buy a club branded dreaded dry robe. I pondered forking out for a certain Lido pal who has a love hate relationship with the poncey robes.
In World Famous City Ground News: the WFCG has been ranked by The Athletic as the 12th best PL ground in the country. I’ll take a similar position for Forest’s final PL placing this season.
Album of the Day: Django Django - Django Django
I usually stay well clear of art rock; I don’t like art, I don’t like rock. But this has a wonderful rambling feel to it. It sounds like a clean living version of Alabama 3.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Andy Kershaw Plays Some Bloody Great Records kept me company on the afternoon shift. Two minutes in to a Brendan Crocker track and I had bought the CD.
Work was fine. I’m rather enjoying it right now. When I’m on a roll then I’m half decent at my job.
To the Roundhouse! To see Baxter Dury!
I came close to bailing. It was dark, very wet and it meant going to N Ldn.
I arrived at Chalk Farm. I’d forgotten all about the time warp lifts at the station. Waiting on the other side was a crazy, crazy queue to get into the Roundhouse.
Someone had locked a locked Moulton F-frame outside on the bicycle racks. My heart felt for the bicycle, being left outside in the pissing N Ldn rain.
Digital tickets are shit. COMPLETE shit.
The Roundhouse sends you the link to access your ticket very late in the day. It can’t be saved in a digital wallet. The only way was via the mobile browser.
It soon became clear that the rain was the reason for fuck off queue. The scanners couldn’t read wet screens.
DUH.
I long for the return of printed tickets. I’d pay the extra. It’s never going to happen.
The ticket guy failed, failed and failed again to scan my ticket. He took pity and ushered me in.
Oh well.
Was Baxter worth all the fucking around to get in? COURSE he was. Mr Maserati was his usual strutting, SEX GOD self. It’s left to others in the band to do all the heavy lifting as he ponces around the stage.
Shout out to the signing fella. I bet he learnt a few new choice words to sign when going through the Baxter setlist.
It was good to be back in S Ldn, very late in the day.