Penalty fare

Cheese took me to London for the penultimate outing of the month of October. Morning started bright, clear and cool: a good day for a spot of Bullingdon in town. Or so I thought.

Got to Waterloo to find a lot of the Bullingdons on the ramp were out of service, although there was one for me. 

Heading for Whitecross Street to make sure that their bacon sandwiches were still up and running, I came across more bad cycle manners in the City than was usual in the West End. Maybe all those busy young men and women with their busy schedules? Rules is for pensioners!

Whitecross Street was rather quiet, but street food and queues were still present. The Market Restaurant was still there, although the manager I knew was not; at least he was not visible. Tea and bacon sandwich on top form, with thick, fresh, factory white. Just the thing for a bacon sandwich. Last visit probably that noticed at reference 4, around 18 months ago.

Neighbouring blue-collar conversation appeared to be about the right way for a small businessman - perhaps a builder - to go bankrupt. The sort of conversation one might have expected a touch nearer the Square Mile.

Passing through St. Luke's yard on the way to the next Bullingdon stand, found the yard near empty and the main door firmly shut. I did not notice any signs of life or signage. Then heading from Clerkenwell into the West End for the cheese shop, the first three stands I tried on arrival were full up and what with one thing and another I ended up at Southampton Street off the Strand, near seven minutes outside the free zone. The first penalty fare I have attracted for some time. But what with that and the throngs of people and bicycles, I was in rather a bad mood by the time I parked up. Not relaxed at all. To the point that I was quite surprised at myself. It was not as if I had not been fed and watered. Maybe it was to do with being the day after my flu jab - only the second time I have had such a thing, but it seems the proper thing to do given all the circumstances.

Along the way, I had to walk my Bullingdon across the top of Trafalgar Square, to find a large orange balloon. One of the young ladies minding it assured me that it did not contain a ton of carbon dioxide, but she failed to explain how I should parse the label to arrive at meaning.

At the cheese shop (reference 2), I reverted to buying two 500g pieces of Lincolnshire Poacher, having decided that the Hafod was good, but not for everyday use. Plus a quarter of a large rye loaf, quite dark and which, in the event, went down rather well with or without butter. Sold in a sturdy brown paper bag, US grocer style. Which I don't think I had to pay for. Perhaps I got a free pass for remembering to bring one of their small plastic bags back for the cheese.

The Bunga bar (last noticed at reference 1) appeared to be alive and well, and in the theatre next door they were offering a pantomime, for which there was a substantial queue and people were being asked for vaccine passports. The young lady here explained that this theatre was one of a small number in the West End doing this and we agreed that there was no reason why they should not. Indeed, plenty of reason why they should. Chinook - possibly tooled up with special forces - hovering overhead to make sure that good behaviour was maintained. Do they ever practise abseiling down ropes while hovering over urban areas where there is nowhere to hand to land?

Just two or three free slots when I got to the Drury Lane stand, not that that would have been a problem since I was withdrawing rather than depositing. Aldwych still a mess but on this occasion I managed to navigate all the cones and arrive in the bicycle lane taking me across Waterloo Bridge.

I passed up the Half Way House at Earlsfield, in favour of TB at Epsom, but I did stop at Raynes Park, where I picked up a few bits, including a heavy picture book called 'Contact Photographers' - 30cm by 25cm by 3cm in size, including more than 400 pages and thick black covers. Which turned out to the the 20th edition of a showcase for professional photographers and agencies. One of their regulars was a chap called Peter Beavis, at the glamour and sports end of the business, still to be found at reference 3, and so below, but the majority were into arty shots of hair dos, food, drink and other consumer items. I imagine the form was that the photographers bought so many pages and supplied prints and copy for those pages. Which I can see was a good thing when most photographs were consumed from paper, and buyers of photography being able to get a feel for their look on paper was important - it has probably all been swept away now - and, as it happens, the website address given has been parked with the GoDaddy of reference 5. Book now up for disposal, probably not burial, tomorrow.

And having held out for the TB, found that it was shut against a Halloween flavoured festivity to follow at 17:00, at that point an hour or so off. Had to make do with home supplies.

PS: having got home, being a bit tired, not thinking that contact meant get in touch with and not noticing the pun, I went as far as asking Bing and Wikipedia to remind me what a contact photograph was, it turning out to be a film which you developed the old way, in a bath, with the completed photograph being identical in size to the film. No mucking about. But I can't imagine that professional photographers in the first part of the 21st century bother with any of that: mucking about with digital and Photoshop rules!

References

Reference 1: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/12/festal-cheese.html.

Reference 2: https://www.nealsyarddairy.co.uk/.

Reference 3: http://peterbeavis.com/.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-near-thing.html.

Reference 5: https://uk.godaddy.com/.