Cheese hunt

Last week, off to Neal's Yard Dairy again, on this occasion the branch near Neal's Yard., that is to say Seven Dials.

Started off badly with a threatening, overcast sky. And OneNote playing up again after yet another upgrade - with the problem here being that I don't make enough use of it to keep up with it. But the sunny side was that I discovered a helpful search feature.

On this first occasion, passed up the trolley noticed at reference 1. Would have gone for it had it come from the nearby Wilko but it didn't.

Three masons in the next group of seats to mine on the train to Waterloo, complete with black blazers and striped trousers. No doubt on their way to something important at the Great Lodge of Great Queen Street. They might have been railwaymen, thus demonstrating the properly democratic nature of the institution. But not so democratic that there were not another couple of masons sitting apart, but quite possibly on their way to the same something important.

One of the anecdotes overhead concerned a press conference that Harold Wilson had once given, with his pipe, in his shorts, from a deck chair on a beach in the Scilly Isles, where he is now buried. It seems that his wife, the Right Honourable, the Lady Wilson of Rievaulx, now over a hundred years old, still visits.

Off at Vauxhall to pull a Bullingdon from the Kennington Lane Rail Bridge stand. Over Lambeth Bridge, where I was able to admire the new steel barriers, for some reason trimmed with concrete at each end. Bridge Street was closed with lots of activity, possibly security related. Scaffolding going at least part of the way up Big Ben. Whitehall still in pretty poor condition for one of the most important road in the land.

Had some trouble parking the Bullingdon. The first three stands I tried were full. At the third a suit from up north was having great trouble getting his credit card to give him a Bullingdon, despite his having done it before and knowing roughly what the drill was - but it did not cross my mind to simply give him mine, thus doing us both a good turn. I could have taken a picture of his credit card or something by way of security, and worse case scenario was, I think, just £250. So I should have done it. As it was I pedalled off down Long Acre to park the thing at Great Queen Street, mentioned above. More striped trousers, possibly the very same ones as I had been sitting behind on my train. Not best pleased to find this morning that I had overrun my half hour by 1 minute 27 seconds and had to pay a £2 supplement. I should and stopped to claim the extra 15 minutes one gets for a full stand.

Back at Great Queen Street, the rain had just about held off. Lots of tourists. The barmaid with the tattooed arms was still working the Crown.

Bought my Poacher and tied some Caerphilly, the first time for years and years. Not really my sort of thing but I dare say BH would have gone for it, having more of a taste for young white cheese than I.

Then off to Terroirs for lunch (see references 3 and 4), where we were served by the same young lady from Bologna who had served us before. Very pleasant she was too, and well pleased with her job, which she said was a fine opportunity to learn all about wine. With all the insouciance of the young, she did not seem to care much about Brexit at all. And a charmingly murmured 'excellent choice' for my chosen Chablis, a Vandangeur Masqué 2015, I think from the people at reference 5. Very good it was too. As was the pasta dish, described as 'Strozzapreti, Datterino Tomatoes, Basil, Olives & Parmesan'. As was the pudding, taken with a spot of calvados, described as 'Chocolate Mousse & Hazelnut Praline' and snapped above. The only snag being that it took a while for me to realise that it was my pudding, mistaking it for coffee. My second encounter with praline, the first being noticed at reference 6.

And so to Hungerford Bridge. Just for form, pulled a second Bullingdon at Concert Hall Approach 1 and pedalled it up the ramp, once again to the pole position.

Home to pick up the trolley that I had passed up earlier in the day, followed by a short visit to TB, the first for years and where white van crowd which I used to know had thinned out a bit. Maybe a dozen or so in, by now early evening. Jameson about half the price of the Calvados, by volume. The visit noticed at reference 7 is not the last, so not years and years ago after all.

PS: wikipedia tells me that Lady Wilson was once employed as a shorthand typist at Lever Brothers in Port Sunlight. I wonder if she knew the nearby Lady Lever Art Gallery? See reference 2.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/trolley-79.html.

Reference 2: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=scapegoat+sunlight.

Reference 3: http://terroirswinebar.com/.

Reference 4: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/wine-and-cheese.html.

Reference 5: http://www.aetodemoor.fr/aliceetolivierdemoor-actus6.html.

Reference 6: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/hay-fever.html.

Reference 7: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/hunt-swede.html.

Group search key: chc.