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….

 

 

 

The Lamb and Fountain was the pub I had intended to visit when I stumbled upon the wonderful Sun a few weeks ago.  Entering beneath the landlady’s nameplate, I couldn’t find the bar when a window slid open next to me and a barmaid asked, “can I help?”  “Which way to the bar?” “Either one you like.  This one has a stunning view,” and I followed the nod of her head to a door that led to a simple room with a full wall of windows overlooking the hills and houses (and yes, it was stunning).

I got my cider and moved over near the snoozing sheep dog and was almost immediately accosted by its owner, perhaps the most affable fellow I have ever met.  There were pauses and disconnects in his speech and a bit of a lumbering aspect as he pointed out places of interest on the horizon and then gave me recommendations of pubs to run to in the Somerset countryside; turns out, he had a truly horrific construction accident a decade and a half earlier where a scaffolding pole (which tends to be 20 feet long, 3 inches in diameter and made from galvanized steel) javelined through the top right section of his skull.  When he showed me the jagged and lumpy scar I just had to whistle slowly and admit, “that is just fucking beautiful;” he looked happy at my reaction so I added, “traumatic head injuries have been a speciality of mine for a while.”

“What? Are you a doctor?” “No, no, no…receiving them, not treating them.”

Another punter came over and told me about some tunnel system that hooks up to the pub but I was trying to keep up with my first conversation and only looked this up when I returned home.

We tried each others cider as he spread out a feast he had brought in with him (this is one of those great houses that doesn’t discourage outside food).  As I left down the staired path he suggested and tried to follow the directions he gave I had to wonder if every pub in town is a cracker.  I’m two-for-two, so far.

Find it on this map.