Archive for the ‘Running’ Category

Shepherds Bush to Acton Tourism   1 comment

 

Friday after work run:  Started at the Shepherds Bush stop of the coach from Oxford and moseyed on up to the Queens Tavern.  As I have every other time I’ve tried to go here (this must be the sixth or seventh effort), I checked the opening times and found them to be from noon til 11 or midnight.  As it has been every other time, it was closed.  The website went down since last Friday and the WhatPub entry tells the story: the pub is only open on game days, now.  Shit.

Whilst grinding my teeth over this wasted choice of an urban route over much nicer ones, I noticed the Batman Dental Surgery.  I only hope that if you explore deeper in the estate you’ll find the Black Widow Marriage Counseling offices or the Swamp Thing Garden Centre.

 

 

 

This poor choice of font size resulted in an unfortunate and confusing presentation of the team slogan. It SHOULD, of course, read, “Come On Your Arses.”  Or, maybe it is as simple as bad spacing and should be, “Come On Your’s” (with a troublingly spurious apostrophe).  No one puts the effort into graphic design nor proofreading, anymore:

 

 

 

 

This Bed & Breakfast, not far from the stadium, is probably out of my price range:

 

 

 

 

I continued.  The other planned pub stop was also closed, I think.  I decided there wasn’t enough spring in the mattress to assist in clearing the hoarding, and ran on, eventually finding the Wishing Well pub near East Acton station (write-up soon).

I’ve had more (and less) successful runs.  At least it was hot and the start of the Early May Bank Holiday Weekend.

 

 

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Blast from my desert past   Leave a comment

 

Ah, nostalgia.  A friend in Tucson sent a link to an old (09 March 2007) article in the Tombstone Epitaph that features a bunch of familiar (to me) names (both hash handles and the names their mothers’ gave ’em).  Good stuff even if the description of hashing presented is not accurate (even some of the specific local traditions get scrambled).

The plunger Meat Grazer is drinking from is The Shit award, given to some egregious offender of hash norms to carry at the next hash.  That’s me with it in the next photo (I think I got it, this time, for signing The Book upside down and on the wrong page — the Huachuca Hash takes the book very seriously).

About ½ of the attendees at this run were either veterans/active duty military and about ½ were academic professionals.  Some of us were both.  Good times…I reckon; I don’t really remember this run.

 

 

Posted May 9, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Made Me Laugh, Running

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Southend-On-Sea, Essex: Sights on a Cold, April Day Out   1 comment

 

I had no plan.  Jackie’s mom’s funeral would be held in Tennessee later in the day and, upon waking and stretching for a run, I decided to catch the train out to Southend to jog, drink, and think good thoughts about Jackie and her brother and all the aunts, uncles, and cousins donning mourning outfits and heading to the cemetery.  A good plan, I reckoned, for no plan.

 

 

Southend Station had some nice details and, paint-job-that’s-overdue-some-touch-up notwithstanding, even the dog shit containers were ornate:

 

 

Queen Victoria (or, using her Essex name, “Lefty” Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, as this statue suggests) looks out toward the sea.

 

 

Hash House Harrier (I believe it is the Full Moon kennel) markings turned up on the cliffs:

 

 

I took a run break and paid for the privilege of walking the pier.

 

 

A paddle boarder in the distance worked against the retreating tide, while some lazier pier denizens took the train.

 

 

 

I thought there would be a pub at the end, but it is really just a Life Boats rescue station (although there is a snack bar).

 

 

Returning to terra firma, it was time to find a pub.

 

 

The cliffs elevator:

 

 

The Kurzaal holds a bowling alley:

 

 

Seaside arcades in older cinemas line the seaside walk.

 

 

Still Life on Victorian Keystones:

 

So, the mourning run finished after 4 pubs (write-ups are slowly being crafted), some eels, and a plate of seafood pasta.  “What have any of these got to do with one another or the stated intent of this trip,” you ask?  I counter, “it’s Southend…nothing has to work together.”  Case in point.  The billboard for the “Sea Life Adventure” features a meerkat — a relative of the mongoose from the Kalahari Desert and no Sea Life, at all:

 

 

Posted May 5, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Obits, Running, Tourism

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Sights around Bushey   2 comments

 

The Sunday run was short and sweet with 4 pub stops over the course of about 4 miles back-and-forth and round-and-round Bushey, a little village completely covered with pubs a mile or so south of Watford.

 

 

 

The main sights, I guess, were the pubs which are being written-up (or shall soon be). I was impressed with the spiritual life of the town, though, especially the icon of Darrel from the Walking Dead (in drag, above) on the side of the Catholic Church.

The Methodist Church is also odd: look at the steeple and the way they seemed to have built it and then built a brick tower around it about halfway up its full height.

 

 

Looking for a quiet place to unload some used beer, I wandered into the town Rose Garden. This was absolutely lovely, but too occupied for my Trump-Russian-prostitute impression. I continued the trek to a final pub (indoor potties!) and called it a day.

 

Posted April 27, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Running

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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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The Watch House, Lewisham, London (& final bits of Saturday Run)   Leave a comment

Pub #2097:

I wrote some notes on my (wrong) map here at the Watch House, pub invoking the “After 1 hour” rule arbitrarily laid down in the first segment entry of the run.  Here they are:

“Too many hipsters even in a lewisham wetherspoons”

“Bitch stole my table”

“Pulled beef and blue cheese, not Stilton … Lancaster red”

Here’s how I remember it:

 

 

I left the Dire South with food in mind, but none of the takeaways really looked suitable.  Getting farther and farther from Lewisham Station, I made out the street life typically found in front of a Wetherspoons and ducked inside.  This will do, I reckoned, and picked out a decent table to dump my stuff on in sight of the bar where I threaded past elaborate mustaches and skinny jeans (is this a mid-70s gay bar?) to get to the bar.  A privileged and entitled young woman came up to the bar after me but urgently flagged down the bartender as he was heading toward me.  I ordered next and turned to go retrieve my stuff from atop what appeared to be her table.  I stopped there to start writing the note; she cleared her throat and I threw up my index finger then drew it to my lips, “Shhhhh.”   I continued to write about the hipsters then added, “Bitch stole my table,” after it was obvious she had started reading it.

 

 

I took up residence at a less auspicious location across from the fake jade statue of a winged kitty.  The Lancaster Red complimented the sandwich, the set and setting, and the entire weird collection of pubs on this run.  Here are the others:

The Beehive in New Elthan and Segment 1 from Welling (pub run rules for the mystery trail)

The Rising Sun in Elthan, Segment 2 (hoodlums and stained glass trannies)

The Old Tiger’s Head in Lee Green, Segment 3 (Old and New Tigers’ Heads and a fat dog)

Dire South in Lewisham, Segment 4 (yuppies destroying Lewisham, one pub and terrace block at a time)

 

 

Posted April 11, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs, Running

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Dire South, Lewisham, London (Saturday Run part 4)   1 comment

 

Pub #2096:

“Porter, please,” I requested whilst pointing with my finger not two inches (that’s 5 cm, modern kids) from the pump clip.  I looked up and he’s filling a glass with lager.  “Nonononono.  Porter,” I repeat, tapping on the clip, this time.  “Poooorrrrrr-tuuuuurrrr.”

“Oh, I thought you said Poretti,” he said while begrudgingly setting the glass of wop-piss aside. Of course you did, you sawed-off little yuppie cocksucker.  That’s one of the sublimely hate-able parts of this area: the unasked-for dickishness of the gentrification class.

 

 

I had reached Dirty South from the most recent stop on the day’s runs, the Old Tiger’s Head, similarly cursed by hipsters but at least there they are LOCAL hipsters.  But, it’s a kid’s bar albeit one that trades on what it sees as its place in music history (if the web site is anything to judge by).  Embarrassing to witness.  Have some dignity.

 

The run, itself, is pretty nice in this area, despite the well-heeled young families moving in.  I noticed, out the window, a problem for those buying into the buurt:

 

 

The keystones above the windows are only partly devices imparting structural stability.  They are also porous and meant to assist in regulating the interior humidity (especially in the wall cavities).  Those that you see that have been painted over are now decorative invitations to rising damp and toxic and structurally damaging moulds, mildews, and — in some lucky houses — mushrooms.  But, the yuppie scum will eventually return the area to a ghetto and go off to fuck up another neighbourhood.

 

 

Oh, and I had my third tiger encounter of the run on this segment:

 

 

Posted April 11, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs, Running

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