Brixton-Herne Hill-Tulse Hill-Clapham Run to De-Stress   1 comment


At 30°C (86°F), it was the hottest day of the year and, based on past experience, that may still be true when the year ends in 8½ months.  This is the sort of weather Jackie misses most about the South: humid, hot, sultry.  Unfortunately, she was on a plane to Chattanooga where the temperatures were peaking at about 10°C (50°F).  Her mother was dying from congestive heart failure and it was down to days if not hours and only one of us could afford to go.  So, after work I went for a bit of a South London tour to kill time until her flights landed and I could check in with her again.



Part of the trip was to visit a buddy of ours in Brixton who has shown real concern, sympathy, and interest in this sad situation.  He also, generously, left me with some traditional “sorry for your losses” provisions before rushing off to pack for a weekend wedding (something of a circle of life thing going on there, I guess).  I ran off past Brockwell Park and through a wooded section of trail a bit above but adjacent to a pavement and street.  I picked up the bottle cap as an alternative to the coin I have used since Cambridge only because I couldn’t find the coin.  It turned up in my back pack later that evening (phew!) but in the meantime the bottle cap sat next to a tree and was not necessarily covered in dried piss and did an exemplary job.



The park was rammed and I moved toward Tulse Hill to seek smaller crowds.  I had the White Hart, above, in mind but found it as dead as my cat and, soon, mother-in-law.  That may sound a bit harsh, but I should point out that in the same way that Edie wasn’t the best cat in the world, neither was Jackie’s mom the best m-in-l in the world; to be fair, I’ve seen much worse cats and at least Jackie’s mom wasn’t a heavily armed, drug-and-drink addled, violent psychopath like my mom (I definitely got the better deal of this family merger).  A further caveat: I realise that I’m using “drug-and-drink addled” as a bad thing, here…unnatural; strange days indeed.



After the second pub of the run (write-up soon), it was getting dark and I decided to jog to the station, 50 meters away.  The day caught up to me, though, and somehow I missed the station completely and wound up running through the twilight as far as Clapham Common.  Just before the station, there, I spotted a bistro called Sequoia — which ties Eastern Tennessee and North Georgia together and to this final leg of the evening’s journey.

On the way home, I stopped at a Sainsbury’s to pick up some supper; Wild Turkey was on deep discount (I think stores are trying to clear out their pre-trade wars bourbon before the new tariffs go into effect) so I loaded up.  Overall, not too bad of an evening considering, you know, the death and demoralisation.





Posted April 22, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Running

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One response to “Brixton-Herne Hill-Tulse Hill-Clapham Run to De-Stress

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  1. Pingback: The Prince of Wales, Brixton, London | The Endless British Pub Crawl continues...

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