Sunday saw the return of The Runner. I think I can remember how to do this.
It was the ideal weather for pounding the mean streets of SW4 - a slight breeze and some light drizzle. A King of Clap'ham Common PB was on the cards, but I was happy to just trot around.
Timing was everything. I arrived back at base just as the bottom end of Bertha blew into Sunny Stockwell.
Fifteen years ago and I would have had to wait until the following Friday for a small NIBS piece in the dear old SLP on Dulwich. And now there's the bloggy stuff, a podcast and an old school fanzine.
Changing times down at the Dulwich, changing times for the South London DIY Punk Rock Ethos.
Im not sure if it is the tech that has made all of this possible, or the resurgence of a proud old club that has somehow found itself caught up in something of an unexplained new fan phenomenon.
Perhaps it's just the perfect random collision of the two? Either way, it's a most welcoming self-fulfilling prophecy - a rarity indeed. The more you share Hamlet content online, the more interest it creates.
Forward ever, backwards never, Comrades.
When the rain eventually did finish road-testing the new roof in the flat, I went out for a photo walk.
I use to do these most Sundays. I really should get back in the habit.
I simply love the freedom of being on foot with camera and having no particular place in which to go. There's quite a buzz in shooting on the fly, taking a few risks and then swiftly moving on.
In recent months I've tried to put in place a personal photographic policy of not snapping at random people. It's too easy and it's just plain rude.
This has meant that I've been searching out instead buildings and locations that are perhaps positoned somewhere where I really shouldn't be.
I ended up walking roughly down Stockwell Road, through Brixton, up Railton Road and whaddya know: here be the lovely lido.
I saved my best snap until last, shot from the hip, on a camera phone as well.
This was the best lido swim of the season so far. The water has just about completed the cleansing process of all the kiddie piss. Even with bruising Transpontine skies, I could still see about half a length underwater.
I shared the lane with one other swimmer. The changing rooms were empty. It was delightful.
I walked back to SW8 roughly along the same route, although I took a different exit out of Brockwell Park.
I've not been along the Cold Water Lane side of Brockwell for a few years now. Nothing much had changed. There were some stunning cloud formations that made for a great photographic backdrop.
One final task for the day back in the flat:
This was my maiden short back and sides with the new toy. The temptation was there to carve out a huge penis. One slight snip however and they've got you by the goolies, so to speak.
I trimmed away with a rather conservative conventional cuboid shape.