Remnants of Romance

Hippy the Hippo and Hugger the Bear had a date round our place earlier today. It didn't work out too well as Hippy has gone home and Hugger went to bed, softly crying. I'm not sure why love didn't blossom, for sure it can't have been the dinner.

The flowers were hand picked from the garden. What was on the hand written menu?

Pasta, Lazana, Spageti, Salard, Rise + Chicken, Lobster, Lamb-chap, meringue ice-creem, Yogaut Drink

I spied the waiter's pad. They ordered Two meedem porshens of lobster and meringue ice creem.

I'm lost. I have no idea why they are not still together, have you?

Roll the tanks, call up an airstrike

I was in the garden picking veg for our tea. On the fence I saw the airforce waiting for their orders to swoop. On the broad beans I saw a fleet of red and black tanks, rolling over the green hills, laying waste to the blackfly hordes.

In my bowl, I see the prize. I'm hungry, not for long.

Midweek Mile Munching

Tuesday morning 09.30. Four men meet outside Purley Tesco. Their interest is not mid week food shopping or club card points, it’s mile munching.

They wheel their steeds across Purley and the first shower starts. Macs on, chocks away. Peeing down in Purley, wet in Whyteleafe, worse in Woldingham, cats and dogs in Crowhurst. The men laughed. The rain was warm and the roads were quiet.

Lingfield, Dormansland, Marsh Green and Edenbridge all fall by the way side. The miles are munched, the rain stops, the macs are packed. The sun comes out.

This countryside is like a jigsaw, they all know bits of it and it fits together quite beautifully.

The lure of refreshment in Westerham is strong. So a hill must be conquered. A big one. The men fix each other with steely gaze through plastic lens and ride on. The choice is made. Toys Hill looms and the four grind on, each at their own pace. The mighty Toys has more false flats than a bankrupt property developer, it’s grim. Past the phone box and it kicks up again from grim to brutal in about ten yards. And like all great hills, it’s over. Conquered.

Swoops and sweeps, drags and digs, Westerhams’s Tudor Tea Room is calling. The men walk through the door and step back in time. Sandwiches, coffee and tea. The world is put to rights with consummate ease.

Onwards and upwards, the bunch breaks and goes separate ways, Coulsdon, Caterham, Selsdon, Carshalton.

50 miles in the bank, the highest quality miles in every sense.

Rock and Rule

I'd been due to go to London today to celebrate a friend's birthday. Marco turns 30 and he's heading to St James' Park to kick things off this afternoon.

Yesterday I found out that the mum who usually picks up K from school (when Mrs Snoop is not around) is herself busy and could do with a little help. Not much, just needs someone to pick up her daughter. What's a boy to do?

I dropped marco a note explaining I had a kindness I wanted to repay which meant I could no longer attend and to say sorry about that.

Here's marco's lovely reply:

"It is important to repay kindness, as without mums we'd be lost. There was this old saying (19th century perhaps) that goes: the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world."

I reckon marco's party will be a real blast, and I can't wait for a walking home from school ice cream come four o'clock.