Wet

Near the end of March, to London to buy cheese and to visit the Estrela, the usual plan between to take a Bullingdon between the two. As it happened the day was wet, and it was not clear that that was going to be an option - getting a bit long in the tooth to be cycling in the rain. But I did take a folding umbrella.

West Hill was still leaking out of the garden of the new house built on Meadway, despite the effort they had put into corralling it into a drain. The house noticed, for example, at reference 1. Water which has, in the past, resulted in nasty patches of ice in the winter on the slope up from Manor Green Road.

Dozed a little on the train, which resulted in some of those odd dream-like sequences one gets - or at least I get - when bobbing back and forth between sleep and wake.

Then for the last stretch into London Bridge, I had a power dresser opposite me. A man, perhaps in his thirties, who cared a great deal about his appearance: clothes, hair, the works. Cared a great deal and was rather loud about it. Not my style at all - but I did remember the observation from the doorman when I left a fashion house in the Haymarket about one never being to old to dress nicely. I think he would have approved of loud. See reference 2.

On leaving the station, made a modest donation to a charity for homeless veterans of the armed forces. Perhaps, giving the rocky state of the world at large, in the hope that we do not need these last for real  again. There were, as it happened, what seemed like a lot of derelicts in and around the station - London Bridge that is - and Borough Market.

There was also what looked like a small organ under the station. Perhaps open to all comers? Was it the same gang as provided the piano noticed north of the river at reference 3? I suppose I should have stopped by and asked.

But wet when arrived at London Bridge and still wet after I had bought my cheese. And where I was surprised that I had not previously noticed the bit of fancy brickwork snapped above - which Street View claims was there in 2022, so I must have walked past it before. And absolutely no idea what was there before.

Plan B was take the tube to Stockwell. Where I found that the Swan, a place where I have heard music in the past, was in a sorry state, with a large chunk of the downstairs bar given over to sofas, coffee and so forth. Not empty, but not busy - and I only very rarely take coffee. So I passed.

Headed on foot towards Vauxhall, to be reminded how much I dislike wearing a hood in the rain - the duffel coat having one - why do young people do it? - and to wonder how much one of the houses snapped above would fetch. This evening's guess £1.5m. Bing turns up what might well be one of these very houses at £1.1m. Four bedrooms with all the trimmings. Including one of those giant cookers if you like that sort of thing. Perhaps the prices is knocked by being so near Stockwell tube station? On a busy road which takes a fair amount of blue-light traffic?

Onto the Canton Arms to dry out a bit, a place which clearly fancies itself as a foodie joint if the sign snapped above is anything to go by. Foodie enough that the artiness of the letters was far more important than their legibility.

But rather than ponder about food, I pondered, probably not for the first time and certainly not conclusively, about what changes there might have been to what is now a big front bar over the years. I dare say that I first used the place more than thirty years ago, but I only have a dim memory of a rather shabby, old-style public house, nothing about its layout at all.

Onto the Estrela, to notice that they are old-speak enough to use figured white damask for table cloths. Not something you see very often these days, even in hotels. And even at home, while we once ran to napkins made of the stuff, I don't think we ever had a table cloth. Or maybe we had one, inherited from an older family member, but never used it. And Bing assures me that 'cloths' rather than 'clothes' is correct in this context. 

And odd how one's memory about a word can suddenly drain away sometimes, leaving it just a rather odd collection of letters, this happening while I wondered about the plural of cloth.

Vinho Verde to drink, an Alvarihno Soalheiro from the north of Portugal, seemingly a first. Entirely satisfactory. Bread followed by (a very yellow) chick pea soup adequate.

But rabbit stew was very good. Lots of rabbit and no (shotgun) pellets. I don't think it was one of those big, low-taste rabbits either.

Passion fruit cheesecake - or perhaps passion fruit pudding - also very good, although it would have been even better had I managed to stop the lashings of yellow goo.

Brown agardente. The whole accompanied by a very young baby on a nearby table, although I did not get to find out how young.

Still too wet to Bullingdon on exit. Not worth it for the short run to Vauxhall Station and I had taken too much drink for it to be wise, even if it had been. London Bridge to Waterloo on a quiet evening maybe, South London Road late weekday afternoon no.

But I was able to admire the house which had once been the Wheatsheaf, another comfortable, old-style public house in its day. Note the three-pot chimney perched above what appears to be a window above and what used to be the public bar below.

And some real stone, the stuff we did not get for our kitchen. Always a bit of a puzzle how they manage to saw it so thin without breaking it. Sold out of what might once have been the house for the manager of the vinegar factory, from the days when such people used to live next to the shop.

I don't suppose our new fake stone worktops - Silestone from Concertino - are going to craze and crack like the real thing. See reference 4 for some arty pictures of same.

Raynes Park a bit of a mess, but I still scored the book about the Germans last mentioned at reference 5. And I might say that I am now on my second pass of the book about the Bismarck, the main subject of that post. An interesting business in all sorts of ways.

Back at Epsom, a couple of trolleys, as previously noticed at reference 6. But no kippers left at Waitrose and a wet walk back over the hill. Not a Bullingdon in sight all day, helmet notwithstanding!

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/04/schnyder.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/07/baquavit.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/09/piano-76.html.

Reference 4: https://www.cosentino.com/.

Reference 5: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/04/battleship-bismarck.html.

Reference 6: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/03/trolley-660.html.