It seems that by accident, I have organised a mini expedition that may eventually lead us to the source of the Thames.
It all began last week, when we were debating what to do on our mutual day off. "The coast" had been suggested, but ultimately was postponed for a future hot and sunny day.
After much discussion we decided upon Battersea Park. You would think that Brixton to Battersea and back again would be easy, but nothing is ever easy with Jimmy and me. We had a full and frank exchange of views on how to get to Clapham Common. At one point in Abbeville Village, I said "I love you more than anyone in the world". A man passing by smirked; he knew I wasn't being soppy and sentimental.
But we got to Battersea Park with little further ado. We stopped for coffee and to watch the ducks, then I had the brilliant idea of heading to the river, which conveniently runs alongside the park. We found ourselves at the Peace Pagoda. Bizarrely, neither of us has ever actually been there.
It's always interesting, being in a park, people-watching. We saw a man performing Tai chi on a marble podium which may well exist specifically for this purpose; a couple having a romantic picnic - I guess it would have been more romantic if she had ignored the Blackberry - and a posh late middle-aged couple who didn't care as their dog peed on the flowers (Jimmy says the acid kills the flowers; I say how dare these people mindlessly and wantonly destroy something created for all to enjoy. They're no better than 'hoodie' vandals).
When we left the park we continued along the river. We stopped a few times, partly so that I could take photos. That is one of the downsides of cycling. You see something, and before you have registered that it might be worth stopping, you've sped past.
The views change between each bridge. Between Albert and Battersea Bridge there is a lot of detail to take in. Modernistic buildings, a collection of boats that seem somehow to belong to a small coastal town, and views across the river to Chelsea. It was good to see a development, called Albion I think, that is modern and funky and in keeping with its setting, although there were others, no doubt where flats cost a fortune, that just look like they were assembled from flatpack with never a care about their setting.
Past Battersea Bridge, the view changes totally. A glimpse of an industrial London I am barely aware of. We cycled along this part, but I would like to return and photograph. It's a bleak landscape, could be anywhere, seems unlikely existing so close to swanky Chelsea Harbour. I didn't know then, but I do now, that the Surrey bank casts a strange shadow on the Satellite version of Google Maps
As approached the London heliport, the road seemed to run out. It's variously signed in rather quaint 50s looking-signage as 'Riverside Walk' or in more up-to-date National Trail sign as 'Thames Path'.
We realised that we would have to leave the river to get past the heliport, so decided to call it day and head inland and home (via The Nightingale). But not before Jimmy had pointed out the glucose factory, and Price's Candles, where his mother worked when she first arrived from Ireland, and reminisced about picking up the paraffin from wharves nearby, having been delivered to depot by boat.
We took up the route yesterday where we left off. In hindsight, I would say, just ignore the bit between the heliport and Putney Bridge - it ain't wurff it.
I got increasingly angrier with Wandsworth Council. Actually this anger had started long before we reached the river. The route we took is supposedly part of the London Cycle network. They condescend to provide this information on blue signs, but it's a joke. I think green strips of road are pathetic and only marginally safer than a bus lane (with off-peak free parking) being designated a 'cycle lane'.
My attitude is sod this, it's not like anyone actually walks around here, they're too busy dangerously driving their overlarge cars. Therefore I shall cycle on the pavement, being very alert to pedestrians and slowing down to slow walking pace when pedestrians' needs dictate. I see the signs threatening fines of £100 for cycling on the pavement and just ignore them...if some jobsworth dares trying to fine me, they won't see me for dust.
The path just runs out somewhere round Wandsworth Bridge. An absence of signage and evidence of new development on the footpath makes me angry. I understand that, with the best will in the world, it may not be possible to maintain the path next to the river every single inch of the way, but I do not appreciate signs pointing to a building sight, I do not appreciate being sent all round the houses get from the river to the river. I was losing my rag on one friend's road, and if I had followed the randomly positioned signs I may well have ended up on another friend's road - but one lives in Wandsworth and one in Putney, and yet they're only four roads apart!
However, we decided to pause in Wandsworth Park despite its forbidding signs saying 'No cycling or we'll shoot you to death cos we are Wandsworth Tories and hopelessly out of touch with Boris and 'Dave' who pretend to want to encourage cycling'.
On the way to Putney Bridge, we had to dismount to squeeze through a flotilla of BMWs parked in obstruction of the cycle path outside a pub ( if I had been on my own and not with Jimmy, they'd be needing a paintjob now!).
Now, this is where I am confused. I concede that I may be going back quarter of a century, but I swear that there used to be pubs along the river at Putney. Like, proper pubs, with beer gardens where you can sit and watch the river, like at Richmond. I distinctly remember going to one with my Putney Aunt, and being distinctly shocked at her encouraging me to drink beer under-age. I did not see any riverfront pubs as such. Sure, I saw antiseptic 'developments' of glass and steel, which I would applaud if I thought they were reclaiming derelict land. But no riverside pubs!
We then went along Embankment. This is full of great big bloody signs saying it's part of the National Cycle Network, be considerate to pedestrians, and even has a token strip of green paint marking the contra-flow cycle lane. Great big 'f*** off don't cycle on our pavements or one hundred smackeroons are uz' signs, so the law-abiding us decide to cycle on the one-way, dead-end road past all sorts of boathouses. We only narrowly avoided being hit by some wanker in a four-by-four they couldn't control.
Beyond there, it's all fields. Or trees. A wooded ride, like being in the country. We relaxed on the beach for a while, laughing as Dulwich College boys fell in the water while learning to scull.
I had a couple of happy incidents of scaring smug posh people. I think my glares are getting more scary the older I get! One was this couple whose dog decided to dash in front of me just as I approached at my specially seriously reduced 'I'm scared stupid by dogs' speed ie walking pace. I think they were waiting for me to apologise; my glare changed their mind.
Then there was the walking group who walked five abreast, strung out across the track. Perhaps they thought 'cyclists are aggressive, why should we move over for them?' So I waited and waited, and they steadfastly refused to acknowledge this in the customary fashion - a slight nod or a twitch of a lip. If I had been a pedestrian, I would have just walked up to them and forced them to part; if they had some basic manners, they would not have hogged the whole path.
In contrast, riding along the Embankment, on the pavement, I saw a woman lifting a very small baby out of a buggy. In doing so she was walking backwards, not looking behind her. The very last thing I wanted was a collision with someone holding a tiny babe in arms, so I moved to over to the far side and slowed almost to a halt. Then she saw me, smiled at me and stayed still: I gave a bit, she gave a bit. How it should be.
I had this bright idea we would turn off and cut across the promontory to Barnes Bridge. However, perhaps typical of our luck for the day, the turn-off (Queen Elizabeth Walk) was closed for resurfacing. So we ended up cycling all the way round the promontory, up to Hammersmith Bridge and back down to Barnes Bridge. I don't know how much that added to our journey, but when we were cycling through the wooded glen, barely able to see the river let alone any landmarks, such as, um, a bridge, it did seem in the region of a hundred miles. It probably was about that, roughly.
We were very grateful to find a pub not far from Barnes Bridge station, where we ate. The menu was extremely limited; I had warm goats cheese tart and salad - which was very very good. Simple, but everything a salad should be. It seems to be a major Jazz venue - The Bull's Head
While we were in there I checked Facebook and Twitter, where people were reporting storms and torrents around the country. We could see clouds that threatened a storm. It had been the plan all along to get a train home, so we strolled along to the station, passing houses with blue plaques for Gustav Holst and Ninette de Valois. Just as we were in the station and under-cover, the heavens opened and it teemed it down. The train came and we soon overtook the storm, finding it to be dry by the time we reached Putney, and still dry at Clapham Junction.
Clapham Junction is where I experienced extreme numptiness. Now, I thoroughly admit that reaching CJ at a few minutes to six on a week night may not have been the most intelligent thing I have done all day, but even so!
I was carrying my bike down the stairs only to find my way blocked by a bloke just standing there. He seemed to have no reason for standing there, just did it.
It's a pretty narrow staircase and was full of people - off the train from Victoria and wanting to catch their connection - going up; going down were people who were wanting to head to Balham and The South. Pretty hectic. Ignore the fact that I was carrying a bike; ignore the fact that there may have been people with buggies or luggage, it was still a very stupid thing to do.
So, the train comes in, and I tell Jimmy to get on before me. I go to the platform edge and I'm trying to lift the bike up, indeed I'm succeeding. But we have a problem. I cannot haul myself up into the train (which is thigh-high relative to where I'm standing) and hold onto the bike. Hearing the station staff blow his whistle (because the train is ready to depart - right?) I scream at Jimmy to hold my bike as I fling myself into the carriage, almost to find myself unable to get on, blocked by my bike, which is blocked by two blokes standing in the way.
Yes, I know people stand on trains, when they're full. There were a dozen empty seats just in the third of the carriage to my right. I got on and I got on safely. But the bikes were in people's way. If those blokes had moved, we could have put the bikes out of the aisle. But no, they had to prove just how macho they were by standing. I could kind of understand it if the train had been packed from Victoria and they were only going to Wandsworth Common. However, it came in pretty empty, and they were both still standing there when we got off at Streatham Hill. I wish I'd said something now.
I felt a few drops of rain at Streatham Hill, so we raced like the clappers home, and even had time to sit in the garden as the rain came. And then went away again.
Next time we do Barnes Bridge to Kew, which isn't particularly far, but may well include a Botanical Garden!
