Tony Blair came to remove my radiators today. As far as blog post opening liners go, you gotta admit that this is up there with them.
My Sunny Stockwell plumber is Tony Blair. Well, not that Tony Blair, but he is Tony Blair to all those that know him.
His green plumber's bag contains tools that could be mistaken as weapons of mass destruction when placed in the wrong hands. The invoices have been known to be sexed up, such is the beauty of TB's handwriting.
Irrigation, irrigation, irrigation etc.
Which is what Monday morning was all about.
And so Tony Blair came to remove my radiators. It's all part of the long process of restoring the Sunny Stockwell flat to its former glories. That summer of '96 Trainspotting day-glo orange may need to be toned down as part of this remake.
Tony was on top form. I never like to hover whenever a handyman is carrying out his work. I took the opportunity to trim my bush downstairs, so to speak.
I really should do a Dylan and go electric, but I rather like the hard toil involved in the manual clipping with the secateurs.
Actually I think I just like the word secateurs.
"You're doing a fantastic job!"
...remarked my local Cllr as she walked down South Lambeth Road looking as wonderfully glam as ever.
I was slightly sweaty, wearing workmen's clothing and looking a bit gawblimey.
We held a conversation of sorts for just over a minute. Congratulatory hedge cutting skills soon gave way to nervous smiles.
My wonderfully glam local Cllr then walked off down South Lambeth Road, and only then I realised that I had been talking to my wonderfully glam (and rather well known) local neighbour.
I went back upstairs to tell Tony Blair all about it.
I had a decent Sunny Stockwell catch up with @elainekamer45 later in the afternoon. Five years of #SW8 social history was condensed into five minutes.
There was a sense of frustration over the progress of the new Stockwell Square that is being built around Binfield Road. As ever, a compromise is on the cards.
The tube station wall facing Jack's (or ack's as it now reads) was suppose to have a canopy. TfL aren't forking out for it, and so we're left with a rather drab brick wall as part of the centrepiece of the Stockwell take on pavement cafe culture.
I returned to the flat and Tony Blair was by now packing up his armory in his green kit bag, and I finished off trimming the bush.
I set Strava running for the ride back to LS. Tip: don't forget to turn it off unless you want to become the new King of the Mountains along an East End stretch, doubling the previous PB time.
The evening was spent raising a glass to all the goodness that is Test match cricket, and then listening to the ACE Daniel Ruiz Tizon on Resonance - 14'50" in for my Transpontine contribution.
I didn't mention Tony Blair, let alone my wonderfully glam local Cllr and her alter ego high-flying actress.
Ab Fab, etc.