Wednesday, March 18, 2009
From Clapham Junction to Vauxhall via Paddington
Being a tale of how one always gets the wrong call on whether to buy a day return to London or a one day Travelcard. So, by going for the latter, I spent £2.60 more than, in the event, I needed to have.
Set off to find that the men from the council starting to patch the various holes that have appeared in our road. This first patch involved digging out a neat hole about 10 feet long by 5 feet wide and 1 foot deep. No pipes to be seen. Can't remember what was at the bottom of the hole. Maybe chalk. By the next day, I found that the hole had been refilled and finished level with the rest of the road, which I would have thought means that in time the patch will be some inches below the rest of the road. We shall see.
Off to Clapham Junction to take refreshment at the Wetherspoons at the top of Falcon Road where I was entertained by the sight of some ladies having a friendly puff after playgroup chucked out.
Visited a rather odd charity shop in Battersea Park Road where I failed to buy an autobiography of Danielle Mitterand. Her early life looked interesting enough but then she moving into overseas do-gooding which looked less so. Then failed to go to the pleasant little café opposite where we have taken coffee in the past.
Managed to get slightly lost on the way to Battersea Park, this by turning up Battersea Bridge Road rather than Albert Bridge Road, so at this point decided to make for the Brompton Oratory, which in the event I managed to walk right around, never getting within a kilometre of the place. So much for my street wiseness in London.
Entertained hard by the Royal College of Art’s sculpture department by two large, red and brand new vehicles belonging the the Fire & Rescure Service. But they were not pumps or ladders. Rather, they were large skip lorries. Skips the shape of a brick, maybe 20 feet long, 8 feet wide and 4 feet deep. Two rollers at the end of the lorry to enable them to be pushed off and pulled back on again. The sort of thing you occasionally see at building sites or waste transfer stations. But what do the Fire & Rescue Service need such things for? Are they diversifying into sculpture disposal business?
Over Battersea Bridge and up Beaufort Street to Fulham Road. Magnolias rather ahead of those in Epsom, presumably being a bit warmer in town. Push up through South Kensington, the part of it containing some very smart and expensive looking houses. The big five story mansion flats reminding me of the sort of thing you get in the smarter areas of Paris. Came across one lot of heritage fortification in the form of broken glass set into the top of a garden wall. I wonder if, in this enlightened age, a burglar who cut his hands could sue the owners? In any event, not as effective as it looks, being readily nuetralised by having a thick coat thrown over it. But then again, most burglars are fairly dim and would not, perhaps, think of that.
Then into Kensington Palace Gardens to admire all the flashy buildings there, mainly of diplomatic occupation. One of them guarded by a couple of well armed policemen. Also came across street lights that looked very much as if they were powered by gas. Must visit in the dark to be sure. Over Bayswater Road and up to Princes Square to take further refreshment. Too late for a little light salad but the beer was OK and the pub was overlooked by a splendid plane tree. Decided though that it was not natural, let alone organic. It looked splendid because of the cunning pruning over the years, not because that was the way that God intended.
Thought of going to find the KPH in Labroke Grove, but a bit uncertain how to get there. Ended up heading east along Westbourne Grove having just missed the sourthern end of Labroke Grove. Perhaps just as well. I might have been horrified to have found that the KPH was now a gastro pub or worse. Into Bishops Bridge Road where I failed to give a lost Irishman very sensible instructions as to where the bit of Paddington with cheap hotels was. But I did tell him to get to Praed Street, so he probably got something in the end.
Into Hyde Park at Lancaster gate, to inspect the statue of Jenner, a distant relative of the BH. Down through the park with plentiful spring flowers and a sprinking of poseurs on roller skates and exited at Hyde Park Corner. Thought about getting the train at Victoria but decided to push onto Vauxhall via the cheese shop and possibly the Tram Stop or the Surprise at Pimlico.
Get to Pimlico, to be greeted by the first private school crocodile of the day, having missed out on any such thing in smartest Kensington. Boys and girls about 3 feet high, got up in bright blue jackets and big blue floppy berets of an unusal cut. Girls in natty kilts. Clearly the nouveaux riche of Pimlico (which I remember from its more seedy days. I also once bought a rather posh summer suit, from Simpsons of New York, in the charity shop there, for all of £20. Did for several years, much to the disgust of TB, the inhabitants of which would not be seen dead in a hand-me-down, be it ever so posh) have yet to hit the buffers and send their best beloveds to bog standard schools like the rest of us. Cheese shop still there at Upper Tachbrook Street, where I get an adequate piece of Emmenthal. No Swaledale so I had to settle for something which looked a bit similar from Cornwall, but which turned out to be rather soft and creamy. Good gear but didn’t taste as much like as it looked; but this I only found out some time later. Decided to miss out on both the pubs and headed for the train instead.
Getting a bit hungry by this point so decided that the 3 minutes change at Wimbledon was long enough to nip along to the on-platform sandwich bar and get one of their splendid rolls at a pound a pop or something. Only to find that the place was a building site; no doubt to return as a new and poncy sandwich bar charging a good deal more than the one it replaces. This is called progress. Back onto the train and off to TB where I have the first pie in a pub for many years. Possibly because so few pubs do them now; their only being interested in selling you pan speared swordfish with risolo snorbs – rather than a pie or a roll or something small and sensible like that.
Set off to find that the men from the council starting to patch the various holes that have appeared in our road. This first patch involved digging out a neat hole about 10 feet long by 5 feet wide and 1 foot deep. No pipes to be seen. Can't remember what was at the bottom of the hole. Maybe chalk. By the next day, I found that the hole had been refilled and finished level with the rest of the road, which I would have thought means that in time the patch will be some inches below the rest of the road. We shall see.
Off to Clapham Junction to take refreshment at the Wetherspoons at the top of Falcon Road where I was entertained by the sight of some ladies having a friendly puff after playgroup chucked out.
Visited a rather odd charity shop in Battersea Park Road where I failed to buy an autobiography of Danielle Mitterand. Her early life looked interesting enough but then she moving into overseas do-gooding which looked less so. Then failed to go to the pleasant little café opposite where we have taken coffee in the past.
Managed to get slightly lost on the way to Battersea Park, this by turning up Battersea Bridge Road rather than Albert Bridge Road, so at this point decided to make for the Brompton Oratory, which in the event I managed to walk right around, never getting within a kilometre of the place. So much for my street wiseness in London.
Entertained hard by the Royal College of Art’s sculpture department by two large, red and brand new vehicles belonging the the Fire & Rescure Service. But they were not pumps or ladders. Rather, they were large skip lorries. Skips the shape of a brick, maybe 20 feet long, 8 feet wide and 4 feet deep. Two rollers at the end of the lorry to enable them to be pushed off and pulled back on again. The sort of thing you occasionally see at building sites or waste transfer stations. But what do the Fire & Rescue Service need such things for? Are they diversifying into sculpture disposal business?
Over Battersea Bridge and up Beaufort Street to Fulham Road. Magnolias rather ahead of those in Epsom, presumably being a bit warmer in town. Push up through South Kensington, the part of it containing some very smart and expensive looking houses. The big five story mansion flats reminding me of the sort of thing you get in the smarter areas of Paris. Came across one lot of heritage fortification in the form of broken glass set into the top of a garden wall. I wonder if, in this enlightened age, a burglar who cut his hands could sue the owners? In any event, not as effective as it looks, being readily nuetralised by having a thick coat thrown over it. But then again, most burglars are fairly dim and would not, perhaps, think of that.
Then into Kensington Palace Gardens to admire all the flashy buildings there, mainly of diplomatic occupation. One of them guarded by a couple of well armed policemen. Also came across street lights that looked very much as if they were powered by gas. Must visit in the dark to be sure. Over Bayswater Road and up to Princes Square to take further refreshment. Too late for a little light salad but the beer was OK and the pub was overlooked by a splendid plane tree. Decided though that it was not natural, let alone organic. It looked splendid because of the cunning pruning over the years, not because that was the way that God intended.
Thought of going to find the KPH in Labroke Grove, but a bit uncertain how to get there. Ended up heading east along Westbourne Grove having just missed the sourthern end of Labroke Grove. Perhaps just as well. I might have been horrified to have found that the KPH was now a gastro pub or worse. Into Bishops Bridge Road where I failed to give a lost Irishman very sensible instructions as to where the bit of Paddington with cheap hotels was. But I did tell him to get to Praed Street, so he probably got something in the end.
Into Hyde Park at Lancaster gate, to inspect the statue of Jenner, a distant relative of the BH. Down through the park with plentiful spring flowers and a sprinking of poseurs on roller skates and exited at Hyde Park Corner. Thought about getting the train at Victoria but decided to push onto Vauxhall via the cheese shop and possibly the Tram Stop or the Surprise at Pimlico.
Get to Pimlico, to be greeted by the first private school crocodile of the day, having missed out on any such thing in smartest Kensington. Boys and girls about 3 feet high, got up in bright blue jackets and big blue floppy berets of an unusal cut. Girls in natty kilts. Clearly the nouveaux riche of Pimlico (which I remember from its more seedy days. I also once bought a rather posh summer suit, from Simpsons of New York, in the charity shop there, for all of £20. Did for several years, much to the disgust of TB, the inhabitants of which would not be seen dead in a hand-me-down, be it ever so posh) have yet to hit the buffers and send their best beloveds to bog standard schools like the rest of us. Cheese shop still there at Upper Tachbrook Street, where I get an adequate piece of Emmenthal. No Swaledale so I had to settle for something which looked a bit similar from Cornwall, but which turned out to be rather soft and creamy. Good gear but didn’t taste as much like as it looked; but this I only found out some time later. Decided to miss out on both the pubs and headed for the train instead.
Getting a bit hungry by this point so decided that the 3 minutes change at Wimbledon was long enough to nip along to the on-platform sandwich bar and get one of their splendid rolls at a pound a pop or something. Only to find that the place was a building site; no doubt to return as a new and poncy sandwich bar charging a good deal more than the one it replaces. This is called progress. Back onto the train and off to TB where I have the first pie in a pub for many years. Possibly because so few pubs do them now; their only being interested in selling you pan speared swordfish with risolo snorbs – rather than a pie or a roll or something small and sensible like that.
# posted by Jim @ 10:38 AM 
