I started writing this on a gloomy bank holiday, and felt tempted to title it Gloomy Bank Holiday. A few days later I went to edit/complete the post and accidentally deleted the original opening paragraph, as well as deleting the record of my walk on my phone app. I did actually wonder whether this blogpost is better off not published - it doesn't describe two exciting days, nor does it contain any photos I'll even consider for my 'Gert's Favourites' photo album.
But then I thought - what's the purpose of this blog? In essence, it's therapy, for me. A sort of diary, too. And I concluded it's actually quite important to record the days that weren't red letter days, the days where the photos were mediocre at best, and to think about the value of that outing (this post covers two outings, on consecutive days last Spring).
I don't think many readers want to read generalised existential angst. Frankly, if you're writing about how awful life is, make it dramatic and exciting, like a car crash. But I don't think readers want to read either variations on a theme of 'My life is nice and lovely, look how nice and lovely it is'.
Wandsworth Common is a very pleasant space; there's a lake and woods; open fields for sport and recreation; and some nice planting, although no formal gardens as such. We sat in the café and observed the world.
I came to the conclusion that there are an awful lot of smug parents who probably claim that they frequently take the children to the park. "It's great, I can sit and have a coffee, and they can run around and let off steam". There was certainly a family doing that, running from café grounds to the Bowling Green and back, screaming and generally being anti-social. The Bowling Green is the one area of most parks that's set aside for (mainly) older people, so these entitled parents of spoilt children thought it okay to invade that space.
Imagine it the other way round, if pensioners decided to take their bowls to the kids playground. I think every park is infected by the types who sit in the café ignoring the children they clearly resent and ensuring that everybody else's peace is disturbed by these neglected brats. (An 'accident' is an unplanned pregnancy that becomes a much loved child; a 'mistake' is a pregnancy planned by someone because 'everyone else is starting a family').
The next day we started our Wandle Walk at Earlsfield, a great opportunity to see the grimy industrial aspect of the river more than the pretty pseudo-bucolic. I would show you the route we took but I've just accidentally deleted it from my phone app!
I think this allotment owner is really keen to collect as much as rainwater as possible.
If you're ever in central London during or just before parades and events you'll be familiar with the railings that are erected for crowd control. Have you ever wondered where they go in the interim? Me neither.
I know little about electricity transformer stations. I know that they transformer the very high voltage power sent down from the generating station to the much lower voltage we use domestically. And that's about it. They can make for interesting photos, but need better light and sky colour than I got that day.
You'd think when you're following a minor river you wouldn't get lost. But I did. In retrospect I think we found the place where Norbury Brook flows into the Wandle, and I took the obligatory rubbish waterfowl shots.
Then we sat in a field for a while. I don't know what the field was or what it was full but it was surprisingly peaceful.
Odd couple of days. This does seem like the world's most boring blogpost, with appropriately boring photos as accompaniment. Neither day felt like great examples of getting out into the wilds of South London. However, it sort of proves the importance of getting out, even if it's just for a stroll or the cycling equivalent. It boosts the serotonin, making one feel good. If the alternative is sitting at home staring at a screen, it's not a bad way to pass a couple of hours. And not all excursions need to be 'amazing' or 'glorious'. Better to develop a habit of getting out regularly than one of staying in on any flimsy pretext.
