onionbagblog

A return to Brockwell ParkRun on Saturday morning. It’s been a while.

Much in the same way that Brixton Rec is my spiritual home of swimming, Brockwell is my zen place for ParkRun.

It’s where it all first started, and it’s probably where it will all finish, given those BASTARD hills.

But what a way to bow out, popping your clogs whilst running Brockwell ParkRun.

It’s been a cheery Saturday, Comrades…

It was lovely to see some familiar faces and old friends ahead of the 9am start for the race that’s not a race.

I was on time for once as well.

My forward planning involved a brief shifty at the Brockwell ParkRun FB page.

Ah, and so the start has been shifted up towards Brockwell Hall. There’s a new route as well.

I’m pleased that I took the time to take this on board. It takes ten minutes to walk up from the bicycle parking at the lovely Lido towards the big old Brockwell Hall.

A few brief ParkRun instructions, and then blimey - WE’RE OFF!

I know the park inside out, but the route itself I wasn’t sure of. No worries, Jase. There’s zero chance you’re going to actually be setting the pace throughout the 5km.

I was boxed in at the start, but then soon found my rhythm. There was no shame in a 50+ bloke being overtaken by a blushing Bride in her wedding white, probably half my age.

Good effort, Madam. Now get to that bloody Church on time.

The finish was uphill.

Oh ARSE. That took it out of me.

It was worth it though on a splendid Transpontine morning. I was rewarded with the view stretching out over to the City.

I was buzzing off me tits, natch.

The ParkRun email dropped an hour or so later. Fourth in my age cat. I’ll take that.

I’ll also try and not leave it as long next time.

“Across our communities, we share the same priorities — making ends meet, accessing healthcare, decent schools and secure homes. We need to end scapegoating and look for solutions.”

Tell It Like It Is

Twelve Months in Essex trailer

One month is enough. Arf.

It’s Your Party, and I’ll Cry If I Want To

How the hell did they fuck this one up? Oh, y’know. The usual left in-fighting - which is also present within the right wing of the Labour party, but they somehow always seem to come out on top. Fancy that.

“All of this will leave ordinary members and supporters of the project confused, if not desperately disappointed. Some will consider giving up, joining the Green Party or concentrating on building local community organisations. They come from a political culture where internal rows and backstabbing have become normalised as politicians vie for influence and build their careers.”

Ain’t No Party Like a Your Party Fuck Up

No Gods. No Masters. And no leaders?

Mark Cavendish brands cycling “cleanest sport in the world” and says “idol” Lance Armstrong “lost more than anyone else”

🤦🏻‍♂️

I was a little late in the day coming to this one once again. Technically it wasn’t a Sunny Stockwell sunset.

Don’t be fooled by the nice little fluffy cloud that is illuminated. About ten minutes later, this turned into a right old BEASTY and dumped the MUTHA of rainfall down on a not so Sunny Stockwell.

I paced around the flat, checking the ceiling for leaks, and looking at the guttering to make sure it was holding firm.

Sometimes it’s best just to say FUCK IT, and get on with your life.

Sleaford Mods have dropped a ‘dark version’ of their video for The Good Life.

It is Halloween, after all.

Another day, another random walk around these Transpontine streets.

The route was roughly from Sunny Stockwell and over to the Oval Art Trail: Gasworks, Beaconsfield (closed) and then the Grand Daddy, the mighty Newport Street.

Never one to let an opportunity to snap away, have camera, will snap, etc.

The South London light was fading. My camera struggled to pick out some of the autumnal colours amongst the concrete.

With major regeneration taking place around The Oval with the old gasometer, now is a useful time to capture the changes.

I’m pleased that I managed to capture the old Cricketer’s boozer before it was bulldozed this time last year.

Snappety snap.

Christ, this was bloody awful. The oh so enthusiastic handclaps ten seconds in should have served as a warning sign. This isn’t really a live album, is it?

I could have tolerated the post-production feel if the songs stood up. But they were shit. I bailed on track five - quite an achievement.

⭐

Blimey - Adrian Sherwood has been busy once again with another new release: The Collapse of Everything.

He’s one of those artists that I never know where to really start. The back catalogue is so vast and diverse. Sometimes it’s just best to dive in at random.

The Collapse of Everything is a little more structured. Tango Dub would be a clumsy, yet accurate, description.

Yer man certainly knows how to build up and sequence a track. It reminded me very much of the ACE Ozrics in places.

It sounds like a full on orchestra has been hired at Abbey Road as part of the production. Betcha it was more like a home bedroom DIY effort.

I’d love to see a film that has The Collapse of Everything as the soundtrack.

Maybe just turn on the news and mute the telly?

Not all Sunny Stockwell Skies snaps capture the sunset - especially so when the silly sun decides to set ridiculously early and you are out being a Boy About Town.

I caught this one early evening, I published it the following morning.

I’ve always had an issue with timekeeping, Comrades.

I love turning a corner around my S Ldn patch, and then OH MY DAYS, another new mural has appeared.

Create without permission, as we use to say back in the day.

But I suspect that Spanish artist Sebas Velasco did seek permission before he painted his beautiful new piece of work on the side of Broadstone House along Cobbett Street, SW8.

It’s titled ‘Yves’ - a local young fella from Brixton, standing on the Brixton mainline platform.

The art may - or may not - be long for this world. It’s right at the heart of the failed South Lambeth Estate ‘regeneration.’

If Lambeth can be arsed to get its act together after more than a decade of stalling, then we may soon have another soulless, uniform development springing up soon.

Then again.

When regeneration stalls, the streets speak.

Or something.

I passed some half term kids playing cricket on the North side of Clap’ham Common during the morning run. Nothing too odd about this - except that we’re approaching Halloween.

There was around half a dozen of the ankle biters, probably around Year 5 or Year 6 primary school age.

They were taking it incredibly seriously as well, fully padded up and even a protective helmet on show.

GOOD EFFORT.

It was a refreshing change from seeing the S Ldn yoof playing football - or throwing fireworks at one another during this time of year.

What was all the more remarkable was that they were playing on the Common grass, or what’s left of it, late autumn. It must have been one hell of a sticky wicket.

Later in the day I found myself walking around the Harleyford Road and past The Oval. The Hobbs Gate was padlocked up.

It was a most sorry sight, reminding me that we are deep into the Winter Well non-cricket season.

Hang on. There’s an England ODI series that no one really gives a shit about taking place on the other side of the world right now, yeah?

I took my enthusiasm from the Clap’ham Common kids, tbh.