Work, a midday run, and then more work.
Guess which was the most exciting aspect of the day?
I'm not sure why my running shoes made a rare luncheon appearance.
Early work shifts ate into the swimming time.
Come luncheon and I needed an escape.
It was quite glorious out there.
I headed along the estuary, as far as Alresford, and then back in the opposite direction along the main road.
I passed at regular intervals many hunters and scavengers seeking out the sloes and blackberries of the estuary lanes.
Bad luck - Anna has already blagged all of them.
The working afternoon was spent in the company of Luke Haines on the headphones.
It's been a while.
But I like him, all the same.
Wednesday evening was spent trawling through the Brixton Buzz archives for the past month and writing the September round up.
I'm not claiming that we are breaking some Watergate style exclusives, but just capturing how Brixton is changing month by month is a feat in itself.
Having an archive to document the pace of gentrification isn't sobering reading, but hopefully it will add something to the historical record.
Long sleeve lycra and full on cycling gloves for the ride to the pool this morning.
The air was musty, much like my swimming towel.
Surprisingly the pool was completely empty - and absolutely silent as well with none of the nonsense poolside music being played.
And then forty lengths in, and the poolside PA blasted out bloody Aha at maximum volume.
I suspect that the staff were trying to clear the pool completely.
The conversation in the gents was about yoga.
I made my excuses and left.
And then an average working day, broken up by the Corbyn speech.
I still remain far from convinced, but the party is in much better place than it was six months ago.
Tuesday evening was spent on FaceTime with Anna.
I don't think she noticed that I spent more time watching the Arsenal match.
A His 'n' Hers working from home day. Anna blagged the desk from the Raj / Colchester, and I retired to the office.
Both of us were a little sore after a day spent in the saddle on Sunday.
Worming the mad cat was as exciting as it got for Monday.
I failed badly with the first attempt. She sensed my nervousness around her and did a runner.
My second attempt splattered her on the back of her neck whilst she was sleeping.
Not nice, but necessary.
The reaction was to be ignored for the remainder of the day by the mad cat. I pressed on with the work.
I did a runner myself at luncheon with a trip to the Post Office to pick up an unknown parcel that required some money to be paid on the postage.
It was a bloody pay cheque from one of my schools.
I caught up a little later in the day with my New Music list.
Except most of it is old music now.
I'm still undecided about Blur's Magic Whip.
I Broadcast is bugging me. Didn't a version of this appear on a solo Graham Coxon album?
The evening dinner conversation with Anna revolved around the shiftiness of LibDems.
We watched her Blue Nose Toffee Boys later in the evening.
Football. Bloody hell, etc.
Sunday was all about the Colchester CTC 100 ride.
And that was about it.
This was the third year in succession that Anna and I have cycled the 100km around the back lanes of Essex and Suffolk - something of a statement in itself as to how well organised the ride has become.
It's the perfect ride for me. The timing as the season is starting to change is wonderful. There are similarities with the Ride of the Falling Leaves back in South London.
Plus as with most CTC events, it is simply a ride with no other reason than to enjoy cycling per se.
There is no talk of sponsorship, PB's, winners or losers.
You simply sign on, and then have your own battle in trying to make the six hour cut off point.
And if you don't make that?
No one is really bothered.
After the ride out to Wrabness on the Tourer yesterday, Sunday was a day for the Roadie.
I had read the route map and seen some of those Essex hills that needed to be climbed...
It wasn't the greatest start as I had forgotten how to change gears on the Roadie.
We've not been out nearly as much as I thought we would this summer. Most of our time has been spent in South London.
Cycling past the University was ever so slightly amusing.
The new freshers were starting to arrive.
That was us, 25 years ago today.
Good luck, kids, etc.
The BIG ESSEX SKIES had dark cloud above.
Where did they come from?
The signing on station was a bloody golf club - Anna's bloody golf club.
If it wasn't for the lycra, then I reckon she would have opted for 18 holes instead.
It was a weird - although friendly - meeting of the clans.
Lycra and golf casual on a Sunday morning is a most odd combination.
And then shortly after 9am, we rolled out.
The Garmin was pre-loaded, and so it was just a case of Follow the Dancing Purple Arrow.
I was soon reminded how I LOATHE going downhill, but rather enjoy the challenge of the climb.
Anna is the opposite.
We had a cat and mouse game on two wheels all days.
Mid-morning tea was taken at Wally's Biker Cafe.
There was a little confusion in the planning. The biker boys were of the leather variety.
The middle third of the ride then made its way over to Finchingfield - a location that will forever now be associated with that GLORIOUS day on Le Tour last year.
We took a light luncheon in the tea rooms, plus some smuggled in homemade flapjack.
33km were still needed. I tried to approach this as thinking of it simply as the usual weekend roll out out.
It was bloody tough.
We clocked in back at the golf club with 8 minutes to spare.
I fell asleep in the sun for a short while, before making the strategic cop out decision of catching the train back, rather than continue riding.
Sunday evening was then spent having a long soak, and then some work shifts to finish the day.
Oh, and This is England.
A returning Anna from the Lakes, via South London, to start off Saturday morning.
The poor girl had been up since before 6am, working as well.
I had a more leisurely start to the weekend.
The Postman Delivers: A Dennis the Menace hand-knitted jumped.
I have been searching for something similar for sometime.
After fruitless online searches, I was put in touch with a charming lady from the north who does hand knitting to order.
A simple Paypal transaction, some measurements, and then three weeks later and my transition to a childhood cartoon character is almost complete.
I LOVE IT.
There was almost another Saturday fashion faux pas when it came to the weekend ride.
We have entered the season where short-sleeved lycra is a little risky.
I put on the armies, and then a short-sleeved lycra piece over the top.
The short walk down to the garden shed brought me out in a minor sweat, and so off came the armies.
Five minutes in to the Wifey Weekend Roll Out and I was bloody freezing.
We pressed on out towards Wrabness. It's a destination that has long been on our radar.
Passing Transpontine lifestyles has meant that timing has been tricky.
The highlight of the ride out was a rather large pheasant flying out right in front of us from an Essex hedgerow.
I thought that it was a mutant pigeon at first.
Wrabness was reached. We took a luncheon picnic outside Grayson Perry's Essex house.
A wander along the beach / estuary followed.
I had been told about the rather up-market beach huts. I fell in love with them instantly. I confess to some property porn Googling back at base later in the evening.
Anna took me on a slightly different detour for the ride back.
I have no idea where she has picked up this estuary wilds back lane knowledge.
But then again she gets confused when I try and show her the Brixton back routes.
We had optimistically packed the swimming kit, penciling in a quick swim and clean up at the pool for the return journey.
Balls to that.
We were both bloody knackered.
ROCK 'N' ROLL gardening during the fading estuary light was the alternative.
A lone large daisy (haven't a clue what the botanical name is) is shining a solitary light for a fading summer.
The lawn has long since had its final mow of the season.
Saturday came to a close watching the rugby with the same level of interest that I have in watching a D***y match.
Another BIG day in the saddle tomorrow.
Another 7am work shift.
Hurrah for the 6am alarm call of a cat's bottom in your face.
Which then meant that the later half of the morning was free.
It was the last day of the cricket season, and probably the last day for fingerless gloves on the bicycle as well.
The pool was a bit bonkers.
It was Kajagoogoo Day.
BOTH of the hits were on strict rotation poolside.
I have absolutely no idea...
Friday afternoon was spent working whilst biting my nails in anticipation of a Surrey championship winning innings.
Plus also fielding calls from EE asking why I am leaving them.
...something to do with a BONKERS £5.35 all in Sky deal.
There wasn't to be a happy ending on one front, but not the other.
C'mon the 'rrey!
I celebrated the Championship by seeing off the housework.
I has a bit of a mid 2000 Stockwell musical experience with Original Pirate Material and Run Come Save Me.
Both still sounded ACE.
BIG weekend of cycling coming up.
I played around with listicles first thing on Thursday morning once again.
Yeah. I know.
But someties the story (and the time) just lends itself to a simple c & p list.
I found it all too fiddly for first thing in the morning, and so resolved to doing what I know best: just blog the arse out of it.
Back in the real world and I was jumping back and forth between work projects. I rather like it that way.
Some very welcome work news dropped mid-morning. A project that was due to come to a close at the end of the month has now been extended to the end of the year.
Then the Postman Delivered... a green bomber jacket.
And so that's a harrington, an Italian army jacket and now a green bomber. I think that's the full quota in the continuing series of Buying up the Coats of my Youth.
Late Junction was a LOVELY working soundtrack, celebrating the Equinox with Robert Wyatt, Jon Coltrane and Solo Bass Steve.
I finally managed to write and publish the Somerleyton piece for BBuzz late in the day.
It took three days of reading planning docs, and 30 minutes to write.
Something is not quite right in this process.
Work shifts ate up most of the ealry evening.
I rediscovered my teenage love for Graham Parker.
Temporary Beauty. WOW.
And then a rare Thursday night for Forest on Sky.
I was going to BOOZE it.
Instead I went for my traditional Trent End refreshment of tea.
Happy with an away point.
More work buddying early on Wednesday morning.
I quite like this way of working - a shared screen and the opportunity to see how others go about finding shortcuts all over the modern interweb.
I then flew solo for the remainder of the working day.
I paused briefly during luncheon for the Tim Farron's leadership speech.
I was reminded as to why I have turned back towards the Comrades, whereas Wifey seems happy with her bloody LibDem cheese and wine parties.
The working afternoon was spent in the company of Surrey Cricket.
How the hell did we get to the final game of the season?
When an old cricketer leaves the crease, etc.
It was genuinely lovely to hear the enthusiasm from the Viscount Linley as he reflected on his Surrey career ahead of his retirement.
I heard late afternoon that an FoI that I have been dogmatic in chasing still isn't a lost cause.
I requested to see all correspondence between Lambeth Council and Network Rail involving Brixton Arches back in March.
This was turned down, as was the appeal.
I contacted the Information Commissioner.
It now seems that the correspondence leading up to the eviction notices being served may just find their way into the public domain.
Wednesday evening was spent watching the N Ldn derby with absolutely no interest, and signing up for a painfully cheap broadband deal for the flat.
£5.35 ALL IN for the entire year?
28.8k modem in the post, etc.
A buddy shift to start Tuesday.
That was nice.
It's been a while since I was the one wearing the training hat. I rather enjoyed the isolation of working remotely being interrupted.
The annual company Equality and Diversity survey then followed.
I had a bit of an OUCH moment when I had to tick the age range box.
Being classified as 'male (including female to male trans men)' put a smile back on my face.
And then it was heads down, work shifts and a day of bloody rain until tools were downed.
For some reason I forgot how to type.
Which isn't good when you are keyboard bound all day.
@RobertElms had an ACE discussion about HS2 and what the chuffers to do with Euston.
A glance over the geographic shoulder at KX would be a good start.
Yer man then played I Don't Want to Talk About It.
I sung along to the mad cat.
She remained fast asleep.
Further first utility woes continued. I haven't been a customer for almost three months now. The buggers just won't go away.
Here's the top tip though: forget phone conversations. Give them a prod on Twitter and you should get the right result.
I started to get through the Brixton Design Trail Spotify list.
The Cool Notes. Woh!
This led to a joyous evening of early 80s Brit Funk.
My reading companion was a localgov planning report.
Phew. Rock 'n' Roll.
And so it was the morning after the Wivenhoe fire.
Having wandered down to the train station just after midnight in my jim jams, Monday morning was all a little bit of a haze.
Not good for the 7am work shift.
The pace picked up, with a full on morning of crisis simulation.
Right in the kisser!
Actually I think it was the four cups of tea before we simulated that got my crisis brain back on track.
I disappeared off to Colchester just after luncheon. I had a spot of pitching to do.
It went well, apart from the pitch-ee perhaps not being in a position to hear pitches for that much longer.
I messed up with my train times, and so did the charity shop circuit instead.
I've gotta say that it was a little uninspiring.
I arrived back at base in the pissing rain, with the mad cat outdoors and taking cover underneath the garden bench.
Art Blakey and his Jazz Messengers got me through the final run of work shifts during a thoroughly miserable Monday afternoon.
I spent less than two minutes in the evening buying online a coat that I couldn't find in over an hour of looking around the shops of not so Sunny Colch.
WE ARE LIVING IN TOMORROW'S WORLD, Comrades.
The rest of Monday was spent on Brixton Buzz action, with a really can't be arsed eye on the D***y match.
My old man said be a D***y fan...
Something of a sandwich swim to start off Sunday morning down at the lovely lido.
I was mid-stream between a slowie and quickie in the fast lane.
I effortlessly caught up with the swimmer ahead, but then the same was true of me from Mr Speedy trying to take me from behind.
The result was that I was stuck between the two for a fair few strokes.
I've never felt claustrophobic in a pool before.
The natural law of swimming means that these minor inconveniences soon solve themselves. The state intervention of lane swimming dictates that everyone understands their role.
Hurrah for the ideology of swimming.
Twenty lengths was the aim.
It was another GLORIOUS Brockwell Blue morning. With a trip back to over there later in the day, this would probably be my final summer season swim in Lake Brockwell.
My mind was completely cleared. I started to think about how Surrey managed to not quite get over the line yesterday at Lord's.
I did the same thing myself, bailing out after 16 lengths.
Some charming Icicle chat then followed poolside.
The once a week activity of removing the lanes at the lido had just been set up.
The free market of swimming momentarily returned.
CHAOS resumed as swimmers were left in isolation, and not with the Comradely social appeal that state intervention allows.
Le Gai Pensionnaire looked like he was actually enjoying his new found freedom.
A leisurely cycle back to Sunny Stockwell, and then bloody flat chores had to be completed.
I did ponder disappearing and exploring Open House weekend. But my only bloody house / flat had to be put in order first.
A late afternoon cycle across town, and then I was on a train back to over there - just in time to give the garden over there a good seeing to.
Just in time to see Anna as well before she buggered off to South London.
Modern Life is Rubbish, etc.
I had some work preparation late Sunday to complete ahead of a pretty big day ahead on Monday.
And then finally This is England.
Up far too early on Saturday morning.
I couldn't sleep at 5am and so decided to do something about it, rather than wait for the South London sun rise.
I caught up with some school work, put a wash on and even had time for a rare weekend shave.
Take that, Saturday.
I was first in the lido when it opened at 8am as well.
Le Gai Pensionnaire was next to do the Lake Brockwell dip. He was booked in for lessons with Lido Mike.
"I'm only going to flutter around with my breaststroke"
...he exclaimed whist dropping his draws in the gents.
Five minutes later and Lido Mike had Le Gai Pensionnaire doing the doggy paddle
Only time for 12 lengths from me for this morning.
My body felt a sense of awe when Michael told me he was in for a 10k swim.
A quick dash back to Sunny Stockwell, and then a tight turn around as I headed out to HQ.
The 'rrey at Lord's was always going to be a great day.
An end of season final spent watching Surrey in the company of some very close friends.
Oh - and Anna had the decency to join us from bloody Essex as well.
We had rubbish tickets in the Lower Compton.
Despite the late September sun, it was bloody freezing under cover.
The 'rrey won the toss and did a half decent job in dismissing Gloucestershire for 220.
We hatched a plan to storm the £50 Main Stand tickets during luncheon.
The presence of a military man put off Korfball Tony as he led the way.
"Just fucking blag it"
... was my message as I shamelessly walked past Mr Military Man and grabbed an empty row of seats.
The sun then went in, and Surrey came out to bat.
You can read the ending elsewhere. It wasn't to be a happy one.
I still has an absolutely ACE day out at HQ.
I LOVE that place - art deco toilets, the slope, and the sense that some South London oiks can gatecrash the party North of the river every now and then.
Saturday evening was spent sobering up and still catching up with some bloody school work.
Each time that a new iOS is released, it seems to b0rK my bloody way of working.
Editing and uploading some simple videos has taken half of the weekend.
I sobered up just before bedtime.
A good day.
A strange morning down at Lake Brockwell.
One moment you are sharing a lane at 8am with a man wearing flip flops on his hands.
Five minutes later and the Invasion of the Bloody Butterfly Boys has begun.
I plodded on, doing my thing.
Which for Friday morning was a respectable 16 lengths. I wanted to press for 20, but the morning assembly back in Sunny Stockwell was waiting.
And what an assembly!
It was the hustings for the new Head Girl and Head Boy.
I'm not going to blog about it in detail, but it was great to see so much confidence coming through.
I'm also not going to blog about how I became a little confused with Year 8 maths...
And that was pretty much Friday.
The evening was spent working on school content.
Saturday has already been written off work wise with a trip up to HQ and a day on the piss with the 'rrey.
Sunday will be the recovery time...
The train journey in on Thursday morning was mixed.
I am a morning person, and very much a functional, working morning person. It's when I get things done.
My usual train in though has become something of a social outing.
Helloooo Lee, helloooo Gaz. Apologies that it was all a bit manic.
I think that we all wanted a seat / sleep / bury our heads in the MacBook.
The surprise soundtrack was Colour by Numbers.
Woh! That sounded fresh first thing on Thursday morning.
And so a school day in SE17 was on the schedule.
I still haven't finished off photographing every single pupil in the school. I ran around, combining this with other responsibilities for most of the day.
I'm still finding it hard to get my head around seeing Year 6 kids who I have known since their Nursery days.
I heard back from the rather cool online publication in my capacity as the esteemed Cycling Correspondent during luncheon.
My role has shifted. I am now Mr. Cricket as well, apparently.
A piece I pitched about spending the summer on the piss with the 'rrey has been accepted.
The best way to celebrate this will be... to go on the piss with the 'rrey at HQ on Saturday.
Don't expect 1,500 words, mind.
I escaped school late afternoon and headed for a cheeky early afternoon dip in the lovely lido.
Luna cinema were setting up for the screening of Jaws later in the evening. It added a little edge to my swim in an otherwise empty pool.
A quick cycle back to Sunny Stockwell, and then much amusement in the flat upon hearing that the Progress MP for Lambeth North is now the Enemy Within for Comrade Corbyn.
Talk about hanging on in the face of de-selection, Comrade.
I did a brief Lidl run, and then spent the rest evening working on school content.
And then Question Time.
Ha, bloody ha.
A rainy, working Wednesday.
I was stuck indoors all day, desktop based and basically bringing in the dosh.
Luncheon brought PMQ's.
I started off hiding behind the settee. Half an hour later and WOH. I felt rather proud of what we have achieved over the summer months.
Work, rain; rain, work.
Plus the Blow Monkeys with @RobertElms.
That sounded ACE.
A little bit of Brixton Buzz catch ups were slipped in late afternoon.
I was saddened to see later in the day that the Viscount Linley has retired from the 'rrey.
Understandable, but what memories.
Wednesday came to a close running a complete back up of all my sites and systems, with half an eye on the Chelsea match.
Up early to see Anna off to South London.
I made use of the extra hours by reading a 50+ page local gov PDF.
Now go back to bed.
But I didn't, choosing a run over a swim instead.
My whole body has been bloody aching over the past few days. A run didn't seem like the wisest choice.
But five minutes in and all was fine. I even managed something of a lame sprint finish.
I'm convinced that my ageing frame is crocked. The only reason that it doesn't give up on me is because I give it a bloody good kicking each day with some exercise.
Mid-morning brought more bloody first utility woe.
Just be gone, you useless tossers.
You don't supply me, I'm not in debt and so stop bloody billing me.
It will all be different under Comrade Corbyn come 2020...
Work saw more crisis simulation.
I simulated well, apparently.
And then yer man Weller made a long-overdue appearance with @RobertElms later in the afternoon. Gruff, as ever. But still something of a charmer within.
Work shifts continued through until evening.
And then some FoI catching up.
Sometimes it takes a level creativity to try and get the answers that you want. You end cross-posting FoI's, just to see if the answers tally up.
It needn't be like this. Just bloody open up, local gov.
I finally caught up with some of the Rico tributes for the remainder of the evening.
We went to see the old boy about five years ago in Brixton. He was still just about holding it all together on stage at Hootenanny.
The evening was lost in the joyous Rico Anthology box set.
That ska Star Wars theme is BONKERS.
Work, rain, background reading, botched attempts at writing, bloody financial admin, more rain, Gentleman Jim Reeves, car crash politics, putting the brakes on car crash politics, paneer & peas, and Andy Carroll.
That should do for today.
Flipper Boy was back in the pool on Sunday morning.
He was flipping away with his flippers, swimming bloody breaststroke as well.
What's the point?
I lapped him more than once as we put the lengths in. Anna then did the same to me.
The rest of the morning was a mad dash to get the gardening done before the estuary rain descended. We just about made it.
I tried to avoid all the Corbyn fall out for the rest of the day. I watched a little bit of the ODI, then Sunderland Vs Spuz, in-between catching up with all the Corbyn speculation.
Strange days, Comrades.
The rain then came, and so did the bloody housework.
I put on the headphones and had a bit of a Bragg afternoon as I polished and dusted.
It's been a while - both for the housework and Billy Bragg.
That should do for another year.
And then ODI and Tour highlights, and This is England.
ACE, as ever.
A rare ride on the MTB to the pool on Saturday morning.
It was bloody pissing it down. There's no way I'm taking the Tourer out in the rain.
I haven't ridden the clapped out MTB since buying the Tourer at the start of the summer. I forgot all about the front suspension bounce.
The pool was wonderfully empty for a Saturday morning. I did my thing, and then I disappeared for a haircut.
There was a small queue, but I managed to bounce back to base on the MTB just in time to hear Tom Watson be elected as Deputy Leader.
And so Sadiq, Watson, and... could it be the dream ticket?
I really wasn't expected 59.5%. I wasn't even expecting a first round win.
It prompted another conversation with Anna about how we live in a London social media bubble. Repeat the messages enough, and some start to believe them.
Forest were on TV away at Loftus Road. The plan was to watch the Reds, but the other red on the BBC News Channel was far more thrilling.
I apologise to the neighbours for a very loud rendition of The Internationale just after luncheon.
Anna then forced me to leave the house as we had a Tour to track down.
The Tour of GB was scheduled to pass through nearby Suffolk in under an hour. If we put a bit of power in the pedals then we could just about make it in time.
The Tourer was my choice of wheels; Anna went with the hybrid.
There were to be no Strava PRs being clocked up.
The ride in was smooth. We took up an ideal vantage point at the top of Brantham Hill. It was a superb view looking down on the route ahead of the arrival of the pack.
We've seen so many pro races over the years that the routine becomes familiar. The early motorbike riders are soon replaced by the first race cars. The police sirens then indicate that the cyclists are around the corner.
And then WHOOSH.
Blink and you'll miss it.
I had decided beforehand not to bother with any photos, but to just appreciate the speed of the peloton.
In the end I snapped away...
And that was the Tour for another year.
We had a slight detour for the return ride, and then spent the rest of the afternoon drinking endless cups of tea.
And then I did something very sensible / silly.
I joined the Labour party.
At least I applied to.
I'll have to wait and see if the Nu Labour twonks desperately hanging on for power in the Vauxhall CLP are going to sling me out again.
My 'labour values' fit those of the party leader, whereas theirs sound more like those of property salesperson.
The rest of Saturday was spent watching the Man Utd / Liverpool match, and then catching up with the Tour highlights.
Duran Duran and The Reflex awaited me at the pool on Friday morning.
I remembered the video from back in the day where the ponces tipped a tray of water over the audience.
My entry into the water wasn't too far removed.
And then something a little different for the working morning: crisis simulation.
I can't talk too much about it, but it was a bit of an eye-opener situation to be put in.
The GLORIOUS estuary wilds weather was calling from outdoors. The best I got was to hang the washing out.
The mad cat was lounging around and after belly strokes all day.
Luncheon bought the London Labour Mayoral result.
I wasn't expecting that.
Yes We Khan, etc.
(Or closer to the truth is probably Stop Tessa.)
Job well done though.
I look forward to campaigning for Sadiq with my Stockwell Comrades on the bloody labourdoorstep next year.
@Robert Elms lightened the mood with the Gregory Isaacs for the Reggae Track of the Day. As ever, much LOVE for the Cool Ruler.
Phyllis Nelson and Move Closer soon followed. What a song! What a lady!
I had a slightly unexpected school work request later in the afternoon. It involves a new way of working, and one that will be interesting to see how it works out...
Anna and I both downed work tools with about an hour of sunlight remaining in the day. We were on a mission to stock up the sloe supplies ahead of another season of a gin home brew.
"Imagine being a sloe picker"
"You are," I impatiently replied.
Ha, bloody ha.
And then more Friday night work, before catching up with the ODI and the Tour of GB.
We're cycling off to catch the Tour tomorrow.
A day stuck indoors, heavy with work shifts, and a bit of Brixton Buzz action sandwiched in-between.
Cover to Cover with @RobertElms was I Can't Stop Loving You - Gentleman Jim Vs Ray Charles.
I prefer the Billy Bragg live version to be honest.
Gentleman Jim won. I wasn't alone in shedding a few tears...
Anna returned from the Lakes, via Sunny Stockwell later in the evening.
Grasmere gingerbread was my reward for bloody cat sitting.
We saw out the evening watching the Tour of GB highlights.
From bloody Cumbria.
A run for Wednesday, rather than a swim.
No real reason as to why. It just happened.
My new running shoes are pretty rubbish though.
And then work, all the way through until early evening.
The Reggae Tune of the Day with @RobertElms was Silly Games with Janet Kay.
It then led to an afternoon of work with some South London Lover's Rock as my soundtrack.
Tickets for the 'rrey at Lord's were sourced. We've gone for the Compton Lower, with a cheeky plan to upgrade.
I had a bit of an underside of Britpop evening.
I've always despised the BP term. The 'movement' - whatever that was - had so much more to offer.
Space, My Life Story and Baby Bird kept me busy re-visiting some past glories for the remainder of the evening.
A 7am work shift to start off Tuesday morning. I managed to get through four cups of tea before it came to a close at 8:30am.
I then took on the 7 Parachute Regiment and won.
The fellas were out for a pacy jog. I sped past them at ease. On my bicycle...
No goggle concerns in the pool for Tuesday morning. I didn't need to spit, either.
This all led to a powerful, functional swim: 40 lengths, a quick shower, and then back to base for more work.
I had some work training via Google Hangout. It was etiquette within the team to turn on the video camera.
I was wearing lycra and still sweating away after the bicycle ride.
The training was on crisis management. My role was to make some mischief in a mock situation.
I was rather good at this.
A run of further shifts took me through the remainder of Tuesday.
Robert Elms played Family's My Friend the Sun. It had a warm, fuzziness feel - perfect for the dying days of the late summer.
He then played Dancing in the Dark. I got up from the desk and obliged with my best Bruce bow-legged bounce.
I had a spare hour to get out and clear up the garden growth whilst I have been away in South London.
The leaves on the sticky thing on the side of the house are starting to turn a magnificent orange hue.
...which then leads to fortnight or so of nothing but sweeping them up.
The mad cat was particularly chatty late afternoon.
I know that this all sounds like pet ownership twaddle, but she does respond to a calling game when she is half-asleep at the foot of my desk.
Tuesday evening was spent watching the Aussie innings of the ODI.
The goggles got in the way of a good swim down at Lake Brockwell early on Monday morning.
As ever, there is no such thing as a bad swim.
But it's not exactly great when you need to stop at the end of each length to empty out half the water from the lido.
I'm not sure what happened here. This is a new pair that have been perfect all weekend. A conversation all about spitting then followed in the gents.
It all meant that only ten lengths was possible. I still felt bloody ACE and all set for the school day ahead.
I put aside some of the very, very stupid lido politics that are in danger of rearing their very ugly head once again in a few weeks.
Just let it bloody go, man.
I cycled up the road towards SE21 and the school day instead.
It was my first day back at what is my FAVE school.
Or was that SW9? Or maybe back in SE17?
They are all absolutely LOVELY to be honest.
There's been a few changes since the summer break. The new Sixth Form building is finished and opened for business. It is most impressive.
It was slightly weird seeing the new Year 7 pupils progressing to the secondary school. These are students that I have seen grow from Reception children. I enjoyed a brief session with them in the art studio.
I managed to get round all year groups during the day - not bad for a school that ranges from Reception to a Sixth Form.
I somehow found the energy to cycle all the way from SE21 over to bloody Liverpool Street at chucking out time as well.
I stopped off at De Lieto's along the way. Two loaves of Transpontine olive bread were bought. Year man slipped me a third for free.
It broke my heart to cycle past The Oval, just as the 'rrey were getting in their stride in the Royal London semi.
I had a hungry cat waiting for me back in bloody Essex.
I did let out a rather loud "C'MON THE 'RREY!' as I cycled past.
It was wonderful to cycle along the segregated CS7 for the first time heading up towards the Elephant.
And then back to over there and... I don't know what to be honest.
The evening was spent watching the Tour of GB highlights, a random work shift, and then editing some content captured during the school day.
Le Gai Pensionnaire greeted me early at the lido on Sunday morning with the singing of one oh his arias in the showers.
Is this right?
Tuneful though le Gai Pensionnaire is, he wasn't doing wonders for my cider hangover.
I made some polite excuses and tried to dive away the fuzinees in the purified waters of Lake Brockwell.
It was a bit of a limp effort to be honest - only twelve lengths and that was your lot.
We've reached the time in the lido season where a slight chill remains once you have finished your swim. It's not sufficient to have a hairdryer down your Y-fronts, but I was in need of some warmth.
I found it poolside, post-swim with some of the other Icicles.
I then cycled back to Sunny Stockwell for some porridge.
I couldn't shake the haze of the hangover for the remainder of the morning. I thought that the lido swim would wash it away.
I tried all sorts - a little concentration with a BBuzz catch up from Dulwich, some gardening, bloody press ups.
There is no way to fast forward and forcefully remove a hangover.
Except not to drink in a Loughborough Junction Pop Up Cider bar the night before, perhaps.
The rest of the day was spent working on the Sunny Stockwell garden.
The lavender garden was ready to be harvested. I thought that it would be a simple task. Three hours later and I had dead-headed all of the lavenders.
My fingers have a beautiful fragrance about them.
Early evening was spent recording and editing METROKNOBBERS with Darryl.
And then some FaceTime with Anna.
And still hungover.