Greens

Remarks at reference 1 about eating meat notwithstanding, about ten days ago some pork was in the offing, so off to London Town to see if I could buy some springs greens, only sporadically available here in Epsom.

A hazy day which I thought was set to be hot. Bearded indigent present with his thin tinnie. Onto the train to find that the serial sniffer of the previous outing had been replaced by a young man clicking his Rubik cube. Plus a noisy young man who taught EFL at a Leeds college of further education. Plus another noisy young man; not coarse or particularly unpleasant, just loud. All in all, not a very restful journey.

Plenty of people of both sexes in fancy dress at Waterloo, from one of whom I learned that it was a race day at Ascot. One lady taking a fag outside the conveniences which have been erected on Cab Road. I wondered whether she would be allowed to smoke once she was through the turnstiles. I then recalled having once been told that the short road from the station to the track was lined with public houses, heaving on race days, so one day I will have to pay a visit, not to bother with the races, just with the public houses to admire the fancy dressers getting tanked up for the off.

However, checking this afternoon, I find that it is a bit of a walk up to the High Street from the railway station, from where you turn left to find the extensive race track buildings, occupying the whole of the northern side of the High Street, or right to find the High Street proper, which looks on gmaps as if it contains rather fewer public houses than it once might have. Not a great looking place for an off-course beano at all. Maybe it would look better on race days.

Down the ramp a bit to pull my first Bullingdon of the day to carry me to Golden Lane, where the stand was empty on arrival. I worried about whether this lone Bullingdon would still be there a bit later, but in the event headed the other way. Then across to the Market Restaurant in Whitecross Street for my bacon sandwich. Some big queue for street food outside. Quiet inside, although the older lady I had noticed on my previous visit was still there, still reading her book. One waitress that I recognised.

I don't know how many people go for one of the many set meals on offer, but at least the sign sets the right tone. This is a caff, not some joint offering you sliced avocado or even guacamole with your poached egg on toast. And careful inspection reveals that at least some of the bricks are entirely fake, decorative rather than structural and only half an inch thick.

Bacon fortified, I strolled down to Old Street where I pulled my second Bullingdon and cycled down to Spitalfields Market on Commercial Street. All very disappointing, just street food and market tat, probably mainly directed at the lunch time trade from the offices round about. No proper food shops or stalls that I could see at all.

So pulled the third Bullingdon of the day - the same one as I had arrived on as it happened, No.54265 -  and made my way down to Borough Market, where I was pretty sure that there was still at least one fruit and veg stall left among all the foodie and street food outlets.

Which indeed proved to be the case. And they had both spring greens and broad beans, which last were a very welcome bonus. So pleased, that I forgot all about sugar cane and new potatoes which were also on my mental list.

On the other hand, I had forgotten to take my ruck sack, so it was perhaps just as well. As it was, I was cycling down Southwark Street with a large plastic bag full of vegetables dangling awkwardly from my neck - tied there with the length of sisal that I always have about me on these expeditions. Good job that it was a straight run and not busy.

Furthermore, someone had had the nerve to take No.54265 from the stand, so I was not able to score three consecutive runs on the same Bullingdon.

I thought it best not to attempt the ramp with my vegetables, and parked up at the Waterloo end of Stamford Street, just by one of the King's College buildings there, from where I made my way to the White Hart in Cornwall Road and where, for once in a while, indulged in a quiet mid-afternoon beverage. Very nostalgiafull. 

Up to the platforms at Waterloo, where I noted that the there were four digit numbers painted on the front of trains. Which, being in the NNNN format, were clearly not the NANN formatted identifiers noticed at reference 2, so clearly there are still some missing pieces of that jigsaw.

While on the train I had a couple of Southwestern Trains platform attendants going off duty across the aisle from me. The lady was sensible enough, but the young man with her sounded very dim and rather aggressive. With hearing aids. But not so dim that he did not have the number of children in his family and their birthdays tattooed on his forearm in case someone asked him, by way of security questions - at least that was what I thought he was saying. Hopefully management and unions knew what they were doing employing such a person in a role which the unions never tire of telling us is terribly important.

Tried the platform library at Raynes Park to find it occupied by a row of adolescent school children, with the young men out to impress the young women by making a nuisance of themselves with people like me. I could only see a selection of women's magazines and a selection of cheap Russian language pamphlets from the days of the USSR, and so retired from the fray.

Home to try and work out how to get my Samsung telephone to display a whole day's appointments on one screen, a trick that Microsoft managed ten years ago and Apple still manage today. I failed, despite working my way through all the likely looking settings, so still have to scroll up and down to check that I have got a proper grip on my day. Very sloppy bit of design: you would think that with the number of telephones that they sell that they would do something about it.

References 

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/07/cuddling.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/06/better-pub-beef.html.