Archive for the ‘postboxes’ Tag

Brixton-Dulwich loop   Leave a comment

 

Starting a run at Brixton always suggests music and today’s earworm made me consider the effects of inflation on independent business transactions I witnessed there. “Twenty-six dollars in my hand,” must have been an outrageous sum at some point in time not too much earlier than when I entered the market; but, I still remember the days you could buy an ounce of weed for $60.

 

 

 

I linger in the square as long as it takes to hum through the song a couple of times and to exchange pleasantries with an acquaintance. The clock tower angels capture my attention in one direction:

 

 

And, the African/Caribbean War Memorial in the other.

 

 

 

Before jogging south and east, I spotted posters for the London International Ska Festival and exhibits worthy of another trip down here. With no real destination other than to find a pub and a rail station after an hour of exploration, I headed to Brockwell Park where a dog chased a magpie who then swept down and chased the dog. I’m sure there was a metaphor there.

 

 

 

This mural on the side of Oakfield Preparatory School was sparkly and mesmerised me for a while:

 

 

 

Then, an unusual postbox — at least, a variety I haven’t previously encountered — emerged.

 

 

 

 

I had a brief stop under a railway bridge at Tulse Hill:

 

 

 

Another old railway bridge acts as a pedestrian flyover, now:

 

 

 

The area is heavily gentrified and there is a dearth of pubs. I eventually settled on the Cambria (write-up soon) but that is the problem with map-free touring of a newly yuppified district. At least the pub was near a station and one of the bridges to the station was well decorated beneath.

 

 

 

 

But, it was a lousy station which only served trains to Luton (at least that was the case on Sunday). There were stops on the line that worked for me, but I was stranded 20 minutes on the platform waiting on the next one.

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A gospel choir was belting out tunes in one building (below) and there was enough alternative scenery (such as above) to keep me occupied but overall I would call this end to the run minimally entertaining. Better — or any — planning is warranted, next time….

 

 

 

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Posted March 26, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Running

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Edward VIII Postbox #6 and other Birmingham stuff   3 comments

 

I went to Birmingham for a job interview because I am sick to my fucking gills of one individual at Oxford who will neither fuck off nor die.  Announcing my intention to leave was supposed to encourage our boss to get him to do the former.  He’ll have to go to the wrong (or right) part of the States for me to have any influence on the latter.  But, a job I could do came up and I put in a half-assed performance today in case neither preferable opportunity arose.

I was also pretty sure the trip would mark my 2000th pub and, while walking toward #1999 I glanced over and spotted the most pristinely preserved Edward VIII pillar I have yet seen (that’s 6, so far).  This MUST be an auspicious sign (but of what?).

 

 

I really think I would like it here, too.  From the massive market between the main rail stations to the University was about a 30 minute stroll along the canal.

 

 

Obey!

 

 

The job, which I have serious doubts I will get, is in buildings either side of the walk from this sculpture to the tower in the background:

More Brummie stuff in the pub write-ups when I get to them:

The Anchor #1999

The Woodman #2000

The Square Peg #2001

The Peaky Blinders #2002

 

Posted November 28, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Tourism, work

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Notting Hill Carnival 2017   1 comment

 

We went to the Notting Hill Carnival to drink beer (check), listen to loud music (check), look at mostly undressed folks (check-a-roonie), and to eat some Carribean food (check).

 

 

I didn’t take a lot of photos after the crowd grew almost unmanageable so this is what you’ll get from this page (apologies, but just image search “Notting Hill Carnival 2017” and you’ll find whatever it is you think you want).

 

We weren’t as drunk as the Iggy Pop looking mofo, above, but not because we didn’t give it the ol’ college try.  His dance was really not as impressive as the copper whose video turned up viral this morning.

 

 

While the crowd probably contained every black person within 500 miles, this is London so (despite racists moaning about being overrun) it was a fairly pale shade, overall.

 

 

I was excited to find an ornate VR postbox (my effort to prove myself the whitest guy at the Carnival, according to Jackie):

 

 

And, the home of one of the founding paraders:

 

 

The Grenfell disaster weighed on everyone’s minds and there were tributes to the victims throughout (and, miraculously, an actual minute of silence in this loudest of London parties).

 

 

That’s not why there was so much smoke in the next picture.  We imbibed in a modicum of hash before travel, but we could easily have sustained a contact high everywhere we went.  “Mahr-ree-wanna, mahr-ree-wanna…like the Bob Marley, mon,” intoned one street salesman as we pushed through a crowd.  That and the hundreds of jerk chicken and goat curry stands on almost every street left our clothing reeking of char.

 

 

The food was grand, too.  J had the goat and I had the chicken (contributing to the avian holocaust wherein more chicken is consumed in 2 days than in the whole rest of the London year).  I also had these numbers handed me on the Tube the day before:

16,000 coconuts
400 goats
15,000 plantains
70,000 litres of carrot juice
10,000 litres of Jamaican stout
25,000 bottles of rum.

I believe it.

 

Entrepreneurs in the neighbourhood rent out their toilets for £3 a go (£5 if you want to jump the queue).  The dry compost loos provided by the borough make it an understandable (if not justifiable) luxury.

 

 

The first and last — the Alpha and Omega, if you will — stands we saw were this troupe of God Botherers:

 

 

One of them — at the far left of the photo — gave me a leaflet with a long, preachy cartoon.  Distilled, below, are the bits I thought I could use here (but opted not to bother):

 

Edward VIII Postbox #5, and Chorleywood, Hertfordshire run   3 comments

I took a break from the A2Z Runs this week and just caught the Metropolitan Line out nearly to its limits.  There was a Red Lion to visit not too far away and in the opposite direction a splendid — and splendidly named — pub called the Land of Liberty, Peace, & Plenty.  (pub write-up links as soon as I get around to them)

The route I took (mapped, below) was hillier than I’m used to and the upper respiratory infection that grounded me for four days is lingering making the effort something more of an effort than it should be.

I had just reached a flat point ahead of a long downhill segment and off to my right I spotted a post box.  The royal cipher only clicked with me a few steps along and I had to double back.  Crikey!  This is the first one I’ve found entirely on my own…in the wild, and all.  An Edward VII postbox used to be the Grail, and now they are just dead common.

I’m up to five E8R postboxes, now, four of them this year within about 10 miles of my house!  Find this one on Haddon Road at Shire Lane, Chorleywood.  The most recent previous one was in Nunhead a couple weeks back, and the ones before that were on the P for Postboxes Run.  More to come, soon…I can just feel it.

 

Posted July 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in art, Tourism

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Edward VIII Postbox and other Nunhead Thingies   2 comments

 

After the visit to Nunhead Cemetery, we headed toward Peckham Rye and along the way I found yet another Edward VIII postbox (my fourth)!  More about these on the A to Z (P) Run write up.

As a bonus, there was also a really nice Victoria Regina cypher on a subsequent postbox:

 

 

Find them both in Nunhead near the dog escaping the park:

 

Posted July 8, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in art, Tourism

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London A to Z Runs : P   9 comments

 

P is for Postboxes: Edward VIII postboxes to be specific (something of an obsession with me) and, fortunately for this run there are more in London than anywhere else in the country.  I haven’t contacted these people (Letter Box Study Group) but it is good to know (I keep telling myself) that I’m not the only postbox obsessive in this country (and bear in mind that the leader of the Labour Party is a manhole cover enthusiast).

 

 

 

And, so it came to pass that this episode of the A to Z runs took me to East Finchley Station (above), to start ticking off these rare trophies.  Just out of the station, I thought I encountered a crossing of the the London LOOP but on inspection found that it is the Capital Ring Trail (and, I noted it for a future series):

 

 

The first was less than a quarter-mile from the station and I topped it with my 2009 England Cricket cap.  This one seems to have endured some welding repairs over the years:

 

 

A gentle hill rise took me into Finchley where the Pardes House School caught my attention and, by stopping to photograph the grand building, I caught the attention of several congregants either there as parents, teachers, or maybe just awaiting Shabbat.  I must have appeared harmless enough, though.

 

 

I had already stopped at the Old White Lion by this time and had targeted this neighbourhood for my second pub stop.  To be fair, I lost my dignity ages ago and regularly discard what little grows back.  But, the pub called Dignity is now a chicken place so no one here can claim to have Dignity anymore.  I had to settle for a place called the Catcher in the Rye.

 

 

There is also a claim that there is an Edward VIII pillar box outside Mill Hill East Station (visited on the N for Northern Line run).  This is blatantly untrue and has been so for quite some time.  The ancient Betty II box is in need of paint and has obviously been repainted several times before.  It’s as if you can’t trust anything you read on the Interwebs, anymore.  Disappointed, but with one more within the region I printed maps for I continued on.

 

 

In the Deep South, most people pronounce my hometown, Atlanta, as “Aa-Lannah,” but there are a few, especially around Macon, Georgia, that call it “Lanta.”  With no one around to ask about this place, I leave it to you to research (but heed my Interwebs warning).  And, if you want to practice a North Central Georgia (USA) accent, you could do worse than starting with this little article I published a few years back.

 

 

There were several grand looking cemeteries on the route but the Hendon Crematorium was pretty tantalizing:

 

 

After a pub stop at the Greyhound, I finally closed out the postbox hunt with this well-maintained example on Elliot Road:

 

 

The plan had been for 3 E-VIII-R boxes and 3 pubs but with one bogus box I had to make up the difference with an extra pub stop (damn the luck!) at the Hendon before heading home.  Hendon Central Station was the official finish:

 

 

 

 

 

Hull-idiz In’t Sun Part 8: (bonus) Mystery Postbox   2 comments

[Note: all the Hull-idiz tourism posts are linked here.]

On my hangover walk in Hull I spotted this rarity: a postbox without a regal signifier (VR for Victoria, GR for George V, EIIR for our Betty, EVIIIR for the hardest ones to find, etc).  My eyes weren’t working to well yet, still adjusting to the light and the alcohol poisoning induced brain damage.  As such, I thought the graffito on the side rudely said “Fuck the Welsh,” and was pleased to see it more clearly in the photo.

If you are new to these pages, postboxes are something of an obsession.  Read the previous posts, here.

 

Posted May 18, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Tourism

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