Category: Oval

Thames path to Putney

Thames path to Putney

A Little London Lockdown 25.5.20

  • I took the bike to Putney along the Thames path.
  • Just started using the Strava app, thanks to Gyuri.
  • 23K 1 hour 50 mins
  • Lots of toddlers and families about so low speed.
  • It’s not a clear run to Putney, you have to get off at certain points and use the road, but it was a beautiful day (26c). Sun, sun, sun.
  • It felt a bit like the High Line in NY, but somehow lower.
  • Lots of little gardens along the way.
  • On the road near Albert Bridge I saw a young couple riding a Vespa
  •  And I thought…
  • It’s a beautiful sunny bank holiday, you’re young, you own a Vespa and you’ve got your bird on the back.
  • Does life get sweeter?
Strange Battersea wildlife
Mud Larks
Michael Caine owns a flat in that building. Not many people know that. Well he used to, we did and interview with him there in 1999.
Battersea Powerstation. Who’s going to buy all these flats?

Covent Garden

Lockdown Lowdown 23.5.20

  • SPAD Dominic Cummings in big trouble for breaking lockdown.
  • Toy MPs piling in on his behalf, presumably told to do so by No10.
  • Wonder if it’s worth burning so much political capital on him, just a day after screeching U-turn by PM on NHS staff having to pay for their care.
  • Beautiful bank holiday weekend.
  • C-19 infections way down in London.
  • Lockdown seems to be breaking down, hope this doesn’t mean a second spike.
  • Roads in our neighbourhood being closed to through traffic.
  • Very happy about this, but let’s see how it works out.
  • Yesterday changed an inner tube on my bike. #quietlyproud. Haven’t done that since I was 15, don’t think we had YouTube videos then.
  • Helped pack up the firm’s offices in Holborn.
  • Homeworker bee from now on.

Took another 8am Saturday morning trundle. This time to Covent Garden.

Doesn’t look much does it? But in the 80s this was the Zanzibar Club where a bunch of us fools had more fun than was strictly necessary.
Robin’s nest

Robin’s nest

When we returned from living in Asia, we brought a Spirit House with us. It’s a bit of a leap for hard-headed Westerners, but most Asians believe we live alongside spirits, many of whom are malevolent. To combat these pesky intruders, houses are built on different levels as apparently ghosts aren’t good at stairs. And outside just about every residence and business you’ll find a Spirit House, neatly kept and with enticing food and drink, all in an effort to tempt the spirits out of your house and into their own cosy home.

I’m afraid we haven’t kept our Spirit House as neatly as we might, as we don’t seem to have spirits; only mice. The little wooden structure lay dormant until a few weeks ago when a pair of Robins started building a nest inside.

We watched as they brought sticks and grass to make a perfect cup-shaped nest. Then bewilderingly they vanished. We figured the location was too close to our back door and our comings and goings had persuaded them to find lodging elsewhere.

But suddenly they were back bearing grubs and worms, which could mean only one thing. It’s very dark inside the Spirit House, but Mrs Preen swears she could see three tiny beaks.

I suppose we are typical soppy Brit animal lovers, but we felt blessed to have them and would sit around watching the parents bring tasty tit-bits to the little ‘uns. A moments research revealed that once the eggs hatch there are only fifteen days before the chicks fly the nest so it wouldn’t be long before they were gone.

Last Sunday morning, at around 8.30, I was in bed sound asleep when suddenly Mrs Preen burst into our bedroom in floods of tears.

She had let our dog Rusty out into the garden and was pottering about in the kitchen when she heard the Robins tweeting in alarm and saw them dive bombing our dog. They were sending up distress flares.

Rusty had caught a fledgling and killed it. Bucket can’t catch a damn thing, she half-heartedly goes after squirrels and gives our mice a wide berth, but a little bird, probably on its first flight, just couldn’t get away in time.

I love our dog and I know nature is red in tooth and claw, but the death of that little bird left us feeling forlorn. It may be ridiculously sentimental, but we felt we had a duty of care to the Robin family and we flunked it.


 

Cable Café: Back on track

Cable Café: Back on track

Following my blog about poor service being dished out at Cable Café on Brixton Road I received a response from the owner Craig O’Dwyer.

‘A friend passed me your article about our coffee / service. I would like to apologize for that day, we were all a bit grumpy having worked non-stop to pass a health and safety inspection just minutes before you passed by. I’ll speak with staff and give them a clip round the ears, they should have behaved better. I’m glad you liked the coffee.’

Apology accepted and I did like the coffee and will continue to buy it. A health and safety inspection must be pretty gruelling.

I’m passionate about supporting local businesses but if they fall short you should let them know. If you just shrug your shoulders and never go back everyone loses. But if your criticism is valid and they listen and improve then everyone wins.

Go to the Cable Café, you may well see me there.


 

Hold the phone: Rusty is a Patterjack

Hold the phone: Rusty is a Patterjack

Crossbreed dogs are incredibly popular these days and cost thousands of pounds, but you can keep your cockerpoos, your spandoodles, labradoodles, puggles and schnoodles because our dog Rusty is a PATTERJACK!

Sometimes when out walking, fellow dog owners ask what sort of breed she is. I just laugh and say she’s a Heinz 57 rescue mutt from Battersea Dogs and Cats. But not any more I won’t.

Mrs Preen was at the local farmers market which does contain actual farmers and not just hipsters selling artisan yogurt. The lady from Marsh Farm (they’re from Essex and sell delicious meat and eggs) took one look at Rusty and said that’s a nice Patterjack you’ve got there. Cue an astonished wife. Apparently Patterjacks are a cross between a Patterdale Terrier and a Jack Russell and are bred by farmers to go after rats.

We all know Jack Russells, but I’d never heard of a Patterdale, so I did some in-depth research lasting minutes and found out the Patterdale originated from the North of England and is a descendent of the Fell Terrier (never heard of that one either). They were used to hunt and control foxes and eliminate vermin in homes and stables. The Patterdale was recognised as a breed in 1995, but are very small so were mixed with a JR to make them slightly bigger and the Patterjack was born.

One website describes the Patterjack as a ‘handsome dog, small yet muscular and stocky’ that’s Bucket to a tee. The only thing we knew about Rusty for sure was that she was brought up on a farm and there’s nothing she likes better than burrowing, Patterjack-style, into the sofa.

We’ve often wondered what ingredients went into making Rusty and even considered getting one of those dog DNA tests, but not anymore, because, let’s face it, if you own a Patterjack life can’t get any better.


 

Cable Café: Must try harder

Cable Café: Must try harder

I love to support local businesses; goodness knows I blog about them enough. Like many people I’m worried about the future of the high street and want to do my bit to keep our local stores alive and thriving. Figures just released show the number of shops lying empty soared by more than 7,500 last year, with one in ten shops in UK town centres now unoccupied.

Retailers, especially small retailers, have to be at their best to attract and retain customers; service has to be tip-top. So, for all kinds of reasons, it really grates when it isn’t.

We usually buy our coffee from a small coffee roaster in York. The quality is excellent but in our continued efforts to buy local Mrs Preen suggested I pop into the Cable Café on Brixton Road and buy some of their coffee. They roast their own and we’d heard good things about it.

I went in at around 2pm when the place was just opening up. There were three staff putting out tables, sweeping the floor and generally getting the place in order. I called out and asked if I could buy some coffee.

A man at the sink said: “Sorry we’re closed, but you can buy it from our other café down Camberwell Road.”

Now here’s the thing, I was looking at the bag of coffee I wanted to buy which was sat just the other side of the bar. So, I persisted and said look it’s right there, it’ll take a second for me to pay and go.

One massive sigh and eyeroll later the bag of coffee and cash machine are banged down in front of me. I tap the card on the reader and receive not a word of thanks.

I was so surprised and irritated by their behaviour that I actually said: “What’s going on here?” But answer came there none, just glum silence.

Perhaps they hate their jobs, perhaps they just hated me, but where is the incentive for me to return? I paid £12 for a bag of coffee and the transaction took perhaps thirty seconds. What was so hard about that?

Anyway, I went home fuming and made myself a cup of their coffee. It was delicious. But do I love it enough to overlook the utter contempt with which I was treated?


 

Northern Line Library

Northern Line Library

The book-drop at Oval underground station

Deserves nothing less than a standing ovation.

My last three books have come from there

A Harris, a Wodehouse and a JM Coetzee.

Crime, romance or the latest thriller

Or maybe the Hungry Caterpillar.

Leave what you’ve read and take what you need

You’re moments away from another free read.

With your nose in a book; in no time

You’ll forget you’re riding the Northern Line.