More Pêra Manca

Pêra Manca being a fine wine from Portugal, celebrated at reference 1 and first noticed by me at reference 2, back in February. The white version, as usual.

An overcast day, a lot cooler than it had been, which suited me just fine. Not at my best when it goes above 25°C.

Following the strike on the day before, we were offered Sunday style services from Epsom, which are not bad, but Vauxhall seemed far enough. Best not to chance things north of the river. And despite the service being offered, we also had the slightly odd advice not to travel unless absolutely necessary. In any event, both the station and the train were very quiet.

There were three vehicles in the new car park at the start of Station Approach. Including a van from Enterprise across the road, with the Enterprise people usually parking on their side of West Hill. Perhaps this was a visitor from the regional HQ, not given access to the branch car park. In any event, three was a record.

Just one trolley across the road from the station entrance. Which I did not capture then and did not capture later, on my return. I don't think I even looked to see whether it was still there. Completely forgotten about it.

As it happened the Victoria train came in first, so I caught that.

Entertained by the telephone conversation of some busy young lady executive. Curiously, she had her phone set up so that the person she was talking to came across a lot louder than she did. I wonder whether she knew. 

Then just past Mitcham Junction, there were lots of teasels and lots of sumac on the eastern embankment. With my having noticed sumac only a few days ago, probably for the very first time, at reference 3.

Out at Clapham Junction, and heading for Grant Road East, I came across a large man in the area outside the Shapesmith arches who was able to jump around two feet into the air, onto a platform of some sort, from a feet together starting point. Not a trick that I would have thought I could ever have managed.

For the first time in a long time, there was a Bullingdon in the Grant Road East stand, just the one, and it was in working order. While the Falcon Road stand around the corner was empty as I pedalled towards it, but then someone pulled in. So if I had been patient, a touch unlikely, I would have got one there.

Joined Cycle Superhighway No.8, not as well marked at No.7, first noticed at reference 6, but very much the same sort of idea. Hung a right at Thessaly Road to get me to Wandsworth Road.

The theatrical operation on the Wandsworth Road, the one with the underside of the auditorium sticking out over the pavement, appears to have collapsed, sadly before I managed to get inside. When I noticed it over a decade ago at reference 1, it was said to be between two betting shops, whereas as now it is between a Tesco Express and a Pure Gym, whatever one of these last might be. And the website given for the theatre fails to give a theatre.

A public house where I once took a warm Newcastle Brown with my half corona, sitting outside on a bench on the pavement, watching the world go by.

Lots of plastic flowers in the Vauxhall Griffin in Wyvil Road. There was also a clutch of young men earnestly discussing the setting of targets for salesmen and generally gingering up the management of same. Lots of traffic lights, goals, targets and warnings. The sort of salesmen who sold in multiples of around £5,000. What a life! Then it dawned on me that what we actually had was two young men selling a sales management package to a third young man. So vicarious, rather than actual management. Still sounded pretty grim.

While the curious left over in Wyvil Road is still there, left in the snap above, looking occupied, and said to be the house for the caretaker of the rather newer school behind. Newer in the sense of probably before the First World War.

A hollyhock in the front fence of Travis Perkins in South Lambeth Road. A flower I rather like, and which must be quite tough given its placement above, but not one which I suppose I will ever get around to growing. I suppose I have the excuse that we don't have a suitable bit of garden which is both sunny and available.

Onto the Estrela Bar, where I declined the halibut on special in favour of beef on suspended skewer, as noticed at reference 6. Plus some of the title wine. The beef was fine, but I wondered afterwards whether I should have had the halibut, which looked very good, suspecting that I had confused the halibut (a sometimes very large flat fish) with the hake (a much smaller fish of the cod family). In fact, I feel sure that I have posted a story about Inuit (aka Eskimos) hauling halibut weighing hundreds of pounds onto the front of their kayaks, a fairly hairy sounding operation. But all I can find is references 8 and 9. Perhaps it will come to me later.

For a change, took some whisky coloured aguardiente, rather than the colourless sort, while watching all the pretty people wandering around in the mid afternoon sun.

Just caught an Epsom train at Vauxhall, so what with strikes and Sunday times, abandoned any idea of the Half Way House at Earlsfield. Settling instead for TB, and passing the bicycle snapped above as I emerged from the passage into Manor Green Road. Back wheel immobilised by means which I could not make out at all. Not my size either.

While in TB, I was struck by the little taps featured on the light fitting. I suppose what we have is a fake old light fitting, faking up an old light which was gas powered. Seemed a bit unlikely that it actually was old or that one would want to fiddle about with five separate gas taps on a ceiling light fitting.

To my left, a mixed family party of around half a dozen being entertained by football anecdotes from the alpha male. Not clear how many of the party cared.

I close with a bit of architectural fakery. Again it seems a bit unlikely that whoever built TB should put in such a large fake bracket between column and beam. Much more likely to be a bit of cod décor suggesting same, the work of some later refurbishment.

PS: back home, I was moved to check up on sour dough bread, presently the subject of an invasive fashion and which I thought was all to do with carrying a bit of yeasty dough from one bake to the next, possibly for years on end. A fashion from San Francisco. A sort of bread which looks well, but tastes bad and disturbs my alimentary arrangements. But I now know that until the Middle Ages that this was how bread was made. Then supplanted by brewers' yeast, eventually supplanted by the bakers' yeast that I like. Sour dough being brought to California by Frenchmen looking for gold in one or other of the gold rushes. Still used for making rye bread in northern Europe, rye being different from wheat in the matter of rising. So partly right, but my correspondent on the matter did have a point. See reference 10.

References

Reference 1: https://saltofportugal.com/2012/01/23/pera-manca/.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/02/hill-start.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/06/trolley-518.html.

Reference 4: https://shapesmiths.com/.

Reference 5: https://www.crossfit.com/. I had thought it was Crossfit who had the gym under the arches, but Bing tells me that it is Shapesmith. There is some connection, but I have not troubled to find out exactly what that amounts to. Perhaps the world of gyms is as cut-throat as that in the City.

Reference 6: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/05/london-bridge.html.

Reference 7: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2010/04/nature-trail.html.

Reference 8: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2007/07/ecotwad.html.

Reference 9: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2012/10/wisley.html.

Reference 10: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sourdough.