Started off with a puzzling absence of signal on the phone, that is to say an icon of little staircase with a no entry sign on top of it, top left. I thought no signal. I had also thought it was some topological vagary of our road, with some of our neighbours getting odd signals. Confusingly, email and OneDrive were still working. Maybe a separate circuit. But the absence persisted into Epsom and onto the train, and by the time I got to Clapham Junction I though some action was needed. So I wandered hopefully into St. John's Road, more or less opposite the exit from the station, to find an open O2 shop almost immediately. Where a young foreign lady was able to sort me out in about 30 seconds flat. Simply a question of a reboot, which had not crossed my mind, despite this being standard when the PC plays up. Second question - after 'have you turned the power on' - that the help desk asks.
Very much struck by the number of smartly dressed, bright young things rushing about. Not something one comes across on the Island and not to anything like the same extent at Epsom.
Picked up a Bullingdon to continue my journey, during which I came across two newly shut public houses, one of which I managed to snap while waiting at a traffic lights. An establishment which I had occasionally used in the past for its sheltered front-of-house smoking den. It used to have a rather dark interior, which may have had pretensions to club. Presumably the 'guardians' referred to on the Lowe sign (click to enlarge) meant that the people minding the building let it out on a short term basis to young people who were not too fussy. Very public spirited of them, given the shortage of housing in the capital. Impressive growth on the wisteria.
First sighting of two young men riding a Bullingdon two up, with the front luggage rack serving well as a seat. Didn't look particularly dangerous, although I guess it would not be clever if the road was busy, which it was not at this point.
First stop on arrival, the Vauxhall Griffin, formerly the Builders' Arms or some such. To find that their once green and comfortable smoking den to the side had been taken over by the next door building site. According to the barman the deal was that the builder paid some rent and promised to both enlarge and reinstate the den on vacation. Better class of trade than in the olden days.
Second stop, the Estrela for a spot of paella and vinho verde. Bread and olives up to usual standard. Paella good, but of the damp rather than the dry variety, which last I prefer. Wine posh. Brandy posh, and served in tasting glasses with the full warming up performance, involving a white towel and a small stainless steel milk jug (we have one at home) full of hot water. In true Anglo fashion, I guzzled rather than tasted. Waiter looked mildly shocked. Resisted the notion that I should take a cigar with the brandy, seemingly available from under the counter.
Elaborate meal involving at least one long skewer was served to a couple opposite, reminding me of the meal we once took in a Brazilian flavoured restaurant in Victoria, a restaurant which came with large screens showing more or less pornographic films of Brazilian fiestas. See reference 1.
Changed at Earlsfield on the way home, but no aeroplanes seen at all in the short time available.
Evening closed with a taxi driver who knew all about the Builders' Arms, being a native of Vauxhall, now transplanted to the provinces.
Reference 1: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=rodiziopreto.
Group search key: vxb.
No comments:
Post a Comment