We have an ambition to go to Richmond Park. We weren't far away on Sunday. We caught the train to Richmond Station. Twenty nine minutes from Streatham Hill is excellent. I sort of misunderstood the map, so instead of going into Richmond Park, we went into the Old Deer Park and walked along the Thames Path. That would have been a lot nicer if it wasn't for the cyclists.
Yes, I know cycling's a jolly good thing, good for the environment and so on, but so's walking. They whizz along so much faster than walking pace, and because the path is generally quite narrow, we had to walk in single file.
I wouldn't have minded so much if it wasn't for the appalling manners on parade. Very few said thank you. There were some who were entirely oblivious that their selfish hogging of the path, at speed, was actually pushing us into the nettles.
I have to say it is indicative of a certain section of society who spend so much time exercising their bodies and so little their minds. I don't suppose more than one in ten of them actually observed any of the nature that surrounded them.
We spotted some steps and went down to the beach. That was so much more civilised. Apart from a little squelchiness at times it was much easier to walk along and hold a conversation without the constant harassment from cyclists. We had a much better view of river life, from wading birds to small craft to pleasure cruisers. As we walked along I commented on how deserted the beach was. Perhaps we had come down the only access to it. We decided it would be best to climb the Embankment, a steep concrete bank. There were chains attached, and Jimmy hauled himself up by them. I tried to follow, but lost my foothold. This was where the chains came into their own. Although I was falling backwards, I was able to fall in a measured way. My inability to climb at the first attempt was not because I was a pathetic girlie but because I had my camera round my neck and my rucksack on my back.
Camera? you say. Are there, perchance, photos?
Well, blow me, yes there are!
We walked all the way to Kew Green, where we stopped for lunch at the Rose and Crown. The chef's special was Brochettes of scallops and prawn on a bed of green leaves and samphire grass. We both ordered it, and when it came I was surprised to see that the scallops were wrapped in bacon. I took it to the bar and explained that there was nothing on the board that said it was in bacon; I don't eat bacon. The barman summoned someone - a manager, I guess - who said he would ask chef to make me another, without the bacon. Whilst I was waiting I went to the bar to get in another round. The manager said they were on the house. And my replacement meal came fairly promptly, with no hint of bacon.
We spent some time on the green watching a cricket match. Ah, the sound of leather on willow on a hot summer's day/ We then decided to make for Kew Pier, cracking jokes about "Queue here". We arrived on the dot of half four, when a boat was due to leave. It hadn't yet arrived , nor had the three thirty.
A boat arrived at ten to five, and almost everybody rushed to get on it. There were a dozen of us who hung back, and half a dozen who were refused entry on the first boat because it was full. There was not a seat to be had on deck. We didn't mind. We had heard the ticket selling man say that two were coming. whilst the panickers were stampeding to get on the first one, the second one arrived.
We had a choice of seats and had a leisurely cruise back to Westminster. We even saw Concorde approaching Heathrow. I took a few snaps. Although they are nothing special, nevertheless, I was so pleased with one of them I entered it for Theme Thursday.
When we returned to Westminster the fun began! We decided it would be too much hassle to get the Tube, so we would get a bus instead. Jimmy wondered how long it would be for a 159 to come, so I suggested we could get a 12 and change at Oval. Wrong! The 12 doesn't go to Oval.
We got off at the second bus stop at the Elephant, It would have been stupid to get off at the first one, by the Bakerloo Line entrance. We wanted the northern Line. But the northern Line entrance is closed, so we walked round and round the dreaded underpasses to the Bakerloo Entrance, and round and round the station to the Northern Line.
We changed to the Victoria Line at Stockwell. Only there was no train due for ten minutes and another Northern Line arrives, so we caught that to Clapham Common. We stood at the bus stop for ages before a 137 arrived. It turns right just after the common. This time it couldn't. Clapham Park Road was blocked off by a police car. so, it carried on up Clapham High Street. We expected it to take a left onto Bedford Road to head back to its route, but, no, it continued to Stockwell Station where it turned to head to Brixton. It was increasingly surreal looking at the perplexed faces of people at bus stops as a 137 sailed past, well off route. Or rather, two 137s, because in inimitable style, two had turned up together.
It was a relief to get home and crack open the rum (for him) and gin (for me)!
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