onionbagblog

Jase, where’s G Force innit?

You don’t say.

I ummed and ahhed over this one. It appeared on eBay and soon picked up plenty of followers. I dithered. I debated internally.

Meanwhile over on Vinted, a wonderful G Force full on cardigan appeared. I also dithered for a day or so. I then went to make my move yet the item had sold.

Arse.

There’s a lesson here Jase. See it, buy it. Yep. If only life was as simple as that.

And so a few back and forth messages were exchanged between the seller of the waistcoat and me. ChatGPT may have been used in order to position my bargaining options.

The deal was finally cut and a few days later job’s a good ‘um and the waistcoat arrived.

It was exactly as described, plus a little bit more. The quality of the knitwear and the condition - for what must be a 30 year-old vintage piece of clothing - are superb.

I date this from the early ’90s, from the Hockley shop back in the Fair City. I thought it might be a little short on me but it fits just right.

I do have a G Force Google Sheet where I log all the costings for this clobber. My heart does miss a beat each time I open up the spreadsheet these days.

To Champion Hill!

…on Saturday afternoon to see Dulwich Hamlet host Carshalton in a tasty National League South fixture.

The journey seemed straightforward enough. We were in Clap’ham and so the Windrush line for one stop over to Denmark Hill and then a short walk down to the ground, looked like the best option.

But wait! What’s this?

The Windrush line was down arse.

A quick reverse ferry and we were back on Acre Lane, left waiting for the bloody number 37 bus.

Oh dear, the bloody number 37 bus.

Back in the day I seem to have spent half my free time on a Saturday waiting for the bloody number 37 bus, or even travelling on the bloody number 37 bus.

It remains the most unreliable bus in all of South London, despite a few tinkering’s with the route change.

The bus finally rocked up and we managed to find the last two seats on the top deck. We were surrounded by what looked like a bus full of Bright Young Things, all heading their way over to Champion Hill. That’s something you didn’t see back in the day.

We arrived outside the ground a few minutes after kick off. The queues to get in were batshit crazy.

I felt for the poor stewards who were trying to guide people into the ever growing number of queues.

There was the queue for season ticket holders, the queue for people with digital tickets on their phone, the queue for the bag search, and then the queue for the poor sods who were left in some kind of holding area, waiting to see if any space was left in the ground once everyone with a ticket had entered. There must have been at least 250 people without a ticket waiting to gain entry.

Back in the day - and I mean REALLY back in the day - I thought nothing of rocking up at Champion Hill at five past three on my bicycle, banging on the big blue gate, and then seeing the friendly face of Bill opening it and waving me through, bicycle as well.

Not all changes are for the better.

But everyone is welcome. Dulwich Hamlet was a dying club. Around 2007 to 2008 when my patients finally snapped, it seemed unlikely that the club would limp on into the next decade, given the levels of debt, the apathy, and the lack of supporters.

So here we have, in 2026, the first home sell out crowd of the season, with 3,000-plus crammed into the old ground. The new stadium can’t come quick enough.

I had vague plans to meet a couple of pals. On previous occasions it would have been a simple case of walking around the ground on a photo shoot and then stumbling into them. Some careful pre-match planning had to go in place to define the exact meeting point.

I made my way past the group of partying Bright Young Things with their party hats and headed towards the Greendale End.

The Carshalton fans had already taken a small section of the Toilets Opposite Stand. They seemed in fine form - and so they should be, with their team having a decent start to the season as well as i this game.

As ever with Crap Match Reports, little focus can be spent on the actual game itself. Truth be told it was a little tricky to actually see what was going on, given the sheer number of people packed around all four sides of the ground.

I could see quite clearly however, that the pitch was in stunning condition. This was lush green. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in a top flight fixture.

Meet ups were made. I managed to have a view of probably around two-thirds of the ground.

From what I could see the quality and play was a massive step up from what we’ve seen in recent weeks back at Wivenhoe Town - and even the new Wivenhoe Town of 2026 are playing a pretty special brand of football.

I took a bit of a moment to look around and try and see some of the old faces. I do miss the ease of being able to see the likes of Mishi and Steve R and having a brief catch up about football. I like to think that something of their character and presence still remains around the old place.

Conversations followed with plenty of catch ups. The football was a little secondary to be honest.

Look there you go - You’ve become one of those Dulwich dickheads who goes to watch the Pink ‘n’ Blue Boys as part of a social gathering, the football being secondary.

I did see the Carshalton first goal and then also had a clear view for a Dulwich equaliser that was probably just about rightly ruled offside.

Carshalton added a second before Dulwich got a deserved equaliser, making it 2-2. They did press hard towards the final five minutes for all three points.

The Key Moment shit thing still takes place. The jingling jangling of keys was funny for about five minutes, five years ago.

SHOUT OUT to the wonderful Hill song, which the Rabble now sing to celebrate the abundance of hills around this patch of Transpontonia.

It all got a little weird towards the final whistle. Three very young ankle biters were making their way around the Greendale terrace, trying to meet up with their adults. There was a strange sight of one little kid walking between the legs of anybody who got in his way.

The Tuscany sky started to gloom a little as we slowly headed our way out of Champion Hill. Everyone was in good spirits, apart from a very small minority group from the Carshalton ultras, who probably still had their homework to do ahead of Monday morning.

Trashing a shopping trolley in a public park where people are filming you is not the best of looks.

The train was boarded back to London Bridge and blimey, there he was. I wasn’t expecting to be in the same carriage as K, also making his way back to Weird Wiv.

You can take the boy out of Champion Hill, etc.

To Studio Voltaire!

…over in Wankerville on Saturday lunchtime. I say Wankerville with some underhand genuine affection for the mean streets of Clap’ham and surrounds.

These are the pavements I have pounded for over three decades as I make my way back and forth between Sunny Stockwell and the Common. Once you reach the Common I maintain it’s a magical place.

It’s just that stretch which starts pretty much past Clap’ham North and then over to Clap’ham South, where the Bright Young Things of SW4 like to go about their ME ME ME lifestyle, can be a little testing.

It’s all about me, innit.

Of course I was adding to this hyper gentrification by choosing to spend my leisure time on a Saturday lunchtime at an art gallery, rather than tucking into a sausage bap at one of the few remaining greasy spoons in the area.

Disturb the comfortable. Comfort the disturbed, etc.

And yep, Katherine Hubbard’s Green Room over at Studio Voltaire was indeed a little disturbed.

I’ve not been to the lovely gallery space in over a year. My last visit was roughly twelve months ago, at the exact same time, on a Saturday lunchtime.

The place was buzzing with the Bright Young Things of SW4. Art wasn’t on the agenda, but tucking in the cafe with some croissants and coffee most certainly was part of the Wankerville lifestyle.

Not so today. The gallery was empty. We had the whole space to ourselves.

It seems that the fairly pricey - but certainly not unaffordable - cafe has now become a fine dining restaurant, or perhaps even a venue for private events.

This meant that the space had one table where a group of four were waiting on their fine dining experience.

Nothing to see here.

There was more to see over in the main exhibition space with Katherine Hubbard’s The Green Room.

Woh, where to start with this? The basic idea is a series of black and white photos depicting the relationship between Katherine and her elderly mother. It’s very intimate, sharing some precious times with her Mum.

You’re never entirely sure though as to how much of this is natural time or something of a staged experience for the camera, given that someone had to be there to press the shutter button. I suspect the latter.

The layout within the space was more enjoyable than the photographs themselves. There was plenty of carpentry depicting the structure of a wooden house.

The moodiness of the black and white photos mixed in really well with the light and airy space of Studio Voltaire. It’s a magnificent gallery and one that deserves many more visitors than were present on Saturday lunchtime.

Some of the photos had plenty of female nudity on show. There’s nothing wrong with that - or even male nudity. It seems that each time I visit Studio Voltaire I’m presented with nudity bordering on the pornographic.

I spared my blushes and headed into the smaller and more compact gallery space to see Christine Hazell’s Different Faces.

These are the sketches from an 89 year old artist who takes photos of well known people and celebrities and then provides a portrait.

We’re talking Prince Charles, Kate Middleton, and erm, Mark E. Smith. I’m not sure how he strayed into the conversation.

I need to be polite here. At first I thought it was a piss take. They looked like some of the self portraits I was familiar with whilst working in primary schools. But apparently not.

Art is a serious business even if these sketches are far from deep and meaningful. It was very playful and some of the portraits did raise a smile.

A very strange Saturday lunchtime gallery experience all round.

I couldn’t resist a quick dig around the CD shelves of the wonderful Oxfam whilst passing through Herne Hill on Saturday. I always enter here with expectation, I never leave with disappointment. Not to mention some new additions to the collection.

Saturday was no exception.

“Give me five minutes, five minutes max.”

…I uttered to my Herne Hill walking partner. True to my word I gave it a quick shifty from left to right and then down the three CD shelves and immediately homed in on Saint Etienne’s excellent Fox Base Alpha debut.

My Herne Hill walking partner owned this on cassette back in the day. It hadn’t been played for around two decades or so, even though we both loved the album. She agreed to allow me to sell it for 20 quid or so on eBay.

We’ve come full circle now with the CD now being bought for cheapo cheapo three quid at Herne Hill.

It’s a fantastic album. In particular the Neil Young cover of Only Love Can Break Your Heart is just pop perfection. I only came to the Neil Young original after hearing the Saint Etienne cover, which I assumed was the original recording for 20 years or so.

I did ponder over a few other bits and pieces at Oxfam in Herne Hill, mainly of the PONCE clothing variety. You get a particular type of PONCE walking the mean streets of Herne Hill

But five minutes was what was promised and five minutes was delivered.

Only Herne Hill can break your heart etc.

“Perhaps the critics, themselves, are shaped by the narrative of those who control the film industry. Perhaps that’s why they just don’t get the impact of Digger. Capitalism in action. It’s what the film warns us against. How clever is that!”

Morning Star on Digger.

I’m still not entirely sure what I made of the film. My instant hit and miss blog post was certainly critical, but reading around the context of the film from other sources, I can now see that it’s a lot more of a deep rooted piece of storytelling. It’s certainly no masterpiece, but it may warrant a second viewing.

Some snaps from some random Transpontine wanderings.

It was more a day of chores on Saturday, going back and forth here and there, all over my little patch of South London. As ever, have camera, will travel.

There wasn’t really any rough route but in no particular order we went from Brixton to Brockwell Park, on to le Velo, and then a bit of a schlep back through Herne Hill, touching the edges of Stockwell towards Wankerville.

Always changing, always the same. The landmarks remain but around the periphery new buildings and frontages appear. It’s sad to see some familiar clubs and bars boarded up.

In their place is, of course, luxury accommodation. People just don’t build new pubs anymore. They always build luxury accommodation.

Whatever.

To the University! …on Friday lunchtime, or more to the point, to the University Squash Courts. Except we weren’t playing squash, we were playing table tennis, natch.

This has fast become our fave new menu for a game of wiff waff. The space is just superb with its small enclosed four walls. There’s just enough room to carry out some long shots, but then you aren’t walking your arse off to retrieve any ball that has just been TWATTED.

We had a pretty half decent warm-up. We were going from corner to corner at some pace. The forehand’s working out okay. The backhand needs a little bit of practise. It does make a very reassuring spectacle and sound when you get the perfect rhythm however.

And then the game started. You know how this one is going to end. I did try, I did try and pace myself. I know I need to start playing cautiously and then ramp it up, but I just get carried away and go for the win.

tl;dr, I never win.

I think at one stage the scores were 3-3. Hey! I’m still in this! 4-3 and 5-3 then soon followed. By this stage I was just dicking around and seeing where the mood took me with each shot.

That’s a fast track route to defeat, fella.

Mingus at Antibes.

I’m pretty much only listening to jazz at the moment. That’s been the theme for the past two or three months. It’s just so easy going yet still challenging if that’s what you want. Plus it’s perfect for multi tasking. I’m a multi tasking type of guy.

I’ve yet to stray into the full on jazz snob type territory. The highlights of recent months, however, have been attending the Weird Wiv Music Mix jazz sessions each month. Give me some live jazz and a bottle of red and I’m yours for the taking.

Mingus at Antibes was an album of the day a few weeks back. It’s been on my eBay radar search ever since. This one landed for £4 all in. I’ll have a bit of that.

What I like about Mingus is that he has that jazz purist thing running through him, yet he’s also not afraid to experiment with soul, folk, and a little bit more funkiness all round.

This CD landed this morning in a cardboard insert as well. No jewel case nonsense. Jazz is the new sustainability, right?

Having missed the Tuesday Forty Plus club run due to some domestic chores to attend, I decided to give the Thursday rollout a try. This is billed as something of a little more leisurely ride.

Tuesday is a full-on day of riding. Thursdays involve the meet up, then a couple of hours riding before heading back to where we started and then back home.

Sounds simple, right?

The only problem is that the meet up is always over in Witham. That’s a good 35 km for me to get there.

So I cycle 35 km, then I do the two hour ride back to Witham, and then I cycle 35 km back.

It’s all about the bike innit.

There was a slight dew on the ground as I rolled out shortly before 8 am. Daylight was barely visible. I was looking like a right dickhead wearing my high vis workman jacket.

I crossed over the river and then made my way around the outskirts of Rowhedge. The rush hour traffic was pretty hellish.

This included a recently passed driver with a green P on the back of his car. This didn’t stop him from close passing. It’s best to cut this out early. A police report was filed later back at base.

As ever I had to time trial it pretty much to make the 9:30 am rendezvous. Sadly I missed this by 10 minutes.

Oh well. I took the opportunity to look at some plant pots in the nearby garden nursery. Live the dream, Jase. Live the dream.

I decided on doing my own all day ride. I plotted in a rough course on the Beeline Velo 2. I thought let’s head up to Coggeshall, then make my way over to Earl’s Colne, weave through Wormingford, and then perhaps take in more familiar home territory around Elmstead.

The route was pretty cool. The Beeline Velo 2 was doing its job. It kept me off busy roads and on deserted lanes. There was plenty of hill climbing to do however.

75 km in and my plates of meat started to bloody hurt. I pressed on.

Then all of a sudden I was back on the edges of the half-town, half-city. The route then took me through Highwood Country Park. I wasn’t expecting that.

I stopped off at yet another garden nursery. This time a plant pot was bought. I’m absolutely CREAMING myself in plant pot land right now.

I slowly headed back towards base. Strava tells me I clocked in 99.3 miles.

Arse.

Buskers.

⭐