Friday

Hello Friday; hello haircut.

Rasheed under Brixton Academy did the business for me.

He’s installed some new gates to the front of the shop. I made a joke about a gated, gentrified barber.

He grimaced as he took the guard off the clippers.

There’s a new sign outside as well.

Fine work, fella in keeping the Pete the Barber name.

I made a mental note not to call him Pete as he attempted to move in on my eyebrows.

And then it had to happen; I couldn’t delay my visit to the lovely lido any longer.

Brrrrr.

A photo posted by Jason Cobb (@jason_cobb_) on

I’ve been away from the beauty of Lake Brockwell for almost a fortnight now. The water temperature has dipped during this period from an acceptable 8 degrees, to a not very forgiving 5.

Five is always the tipping for me at the lovely lido. It is the benchmark when my body said: hang on fella, this ‘aint much fun.

But personal failure is at stake. I knew that the five minutes or so of cold water swimming would be worth it, compared to a working day of wondering what might have been if I had bailed out.

Of course it was bloody beautiful.

The lido BANTS in the gents gets you through that initial arrival stage. You haven’t the time to ponder the nonsense of what you are about to attempt.

And then before you know it, you are stripped down to your shreddies and ready for a swim.

This is the coldest that I have held out without a wetsuit. I feel rather pleased that the black rubber has stayed at the back of the wardrobe so far this season.

A strange sense of timing meant that I had the whole of the lovely lido to myself on Friday morning.

I started to GRIN as soon as I entered the water.

I managed six lengths before I sensibly listened to my body, and not my mind. I’m still swimming around the theory of No. of lengths = pool temperature. I’ve banked an extra length for when the temperature drops further still.

The pain only really started once I left the water. I didn’t have time to ponce around in the sauna. I was expected in a school assembly back in Sunny Stockwell.

The SW9 school day was ACE.

Starting the morning with a choir rendition of The Police’s Walking on the Moon was unexpected.

My favourite science / soul gag was then told in the school lab:

“I second that emulsion.”

Fine work, Madam.

I somehow found myself Wii dancing over luncheon.

Oh dear.

Boy Y asked me about my cat.

He meant the mad cat 🙁

I have deliberately avoided this topic of conversation with him since September. I paused, and contemplated telling him the sad news.

He got in there before me and told me that his cat had also died over the summer.

Poor Boy Y 🙁

I felt like giving him a not very professional hug.

For some weird reason he then called me ‘Miss’ for the remainder of the afternoon.

STAR.

I gatecrashed some Year 11 First Aid training for the final lesson. It was fantastic with the students really embracing it.

I came out of SW9 with 2,250 words, 200+ images and an iPhone stuffed full of audio.

Self-editing is a skill I don’t possess.

And then I had to cycle back over the river and catch a train back to *over there.*

Arse.

Elephant to Ldn Bridge was a bloody nightmare. I only just made the train.

At the other end of the line and the Christmas lights has been TURNED ON in my absence.

The lights were on, there was no one at home, etc.

Harsh.

Anna and the two kittens were around however. Plus a couple of work shifts.

And then Forest on TV, and BOOZE.

Two Stars on the Badge, Comrades.

#chinchin