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Bark Psychosis' Hex, Lowell George’s Thanks I’ll Eat It Here, and Ali Farka Toure’s Talking Timbuktu.

Look - I’ve been away.

I’ve been away buying CD’s…

But that’s not the point.

One of the pleasures of returning home is finding the stash of CD’s that the local Postie has left for me.

I’ve been after Hex for a year or so now. Prices between £15 - £20 are not unknown.

I managed to pick this up for £8 - a fiver or so above my usual personal threshold.

It’s bloody good though. Dark, early 90’s proto post-rock. That makes it sound a lot more pretentious than it actually is.

At the other end of the scale we have Lowell George.

Erm, I’ve not actually heard this. But Robert Elms always bangs on about how bloody good it is. He’s yet to let me down.

And finally Ali Farka Toure. This was a recent album from the 1,001 Albums list. It’s an uplifting record that gets even my downbeat feet dancing.

What can I trouble the postie with next?

Don’t stop off at the Oxfam in Herne Hill and spunk away more money on CD’s.

DON’T STOP OFF AT THE OXFAM IN HERNE HILL…

Yeah, you know what’s coming.

I find it impossible to resist the lure of the Herne Hill Oxfam each time that I cycle past.

There’s a steady turnover of quality CD’s to flick through. Not the usual Simply Red charity shop crap, either.

Fifteen minutes later and I was £7 lighter, with three CD’s - one of which is a triple.

Not bad.

I hesitated over The Jungle Brothers' debut. I love their hip house crossover, with the Daisy Age angle. But is it really a CD album?

Who gives a shit at £2. Add it to the basket.

Then there was Mozza, with Ringleader of the Tormentors - his last acceptable album before he became, erm, a little questionable with his views.

So that makes it alright then.

Finally a triple package from Fats Domino. That will pass away the winter evenings with a bottle of red on the go.

I must try and plan a different bicycling route from Herne Hill back to Sunny Stockwell.

“Alternatives like Signal, Wire, and Element prove that secure communication doesn’t require monetising our attention. They’re no harder to use. The challenge lies in convincing your social circle to move with you. The real choice sits between convenience and conscience, between what’s easy and what’s ethical.”

Documentally on Meta’s Big Brother

In Pictures: London’s Lesser-Known Art Deco Gems

One day I will get to live and own the dream.

Yeah, right.

Jetpack Tools Every Blogger Should Be Using in 2025/2026

Sunday morning listening: Nobukazu Takemura’s mixtape, via the always wonderful #latejunction

Are “mind-altering” shoes the next big performance gain in cycling?

Don’t be a daft twat.

Labour’s Dirty Secrets

Muddy Hell at Herne Hill Velo was a hell of a lot of fun.

It was a Halloween themed Cyclo X ride, that was slightly out of season, taking place a week or so after All Hallows' Eve.

The cycling calendar tends to get a little congested.

Muddy Hell however proved be anything but. The rather seasonal weather meant that the cross country parts of the circuit were rather dry.

Boo, hiss, etc.

The sizeable crowd had only come along to see riders come tumbling down, right?

The course was a mixture of some track riding, a large ramp, some bunny hop hurdles through a tent, and then the back of the Velo cross-country style.

It looked challenging during the fading light for the youth race; come darkness when the big boys and girls came out to race, and rather you than me.

The kids were great. This wasn’t so much about winning, but enjoying the track and surrounds in fancy dress.

With darkness descending around Herne Hill, the Best Costume race for the adults followed.

There was some ACE efforts. Shout out to Action Man, ET and the dude in a blow up dinosaur costume - who I think had to abandon after it became clear that his costume wasn’t compatible with cycling?

A full on proper race followed. Apologies, but time was tight for me and I couldn’t hang around.

I bloody love le Velo and all that it has grown to become in the past ten years or so.

To The Menace Arena!

…on Saturday afternoon. Peckham Town were at home to Ide Hill FC.

I was slightly late, but no worries. KO was delayed. The away team was stuck in traffic, apparently.

I’m not even sure where Ide Hill is.

The delayed start allowed our small but incredibly well formed Brixton Buzz team to have a pre-match editorial meeting.

It lasted al of thirty seconds. Fuck planning strategies, content calendars and commercial partnerships.

Fancy a drink?

The S Ldn sun was shining on the Arena (OK, municipal field) and the home team made a strong start.

A deliberate handball on the line from an away defender led to a red card and a pen for Peckham.

It was WEIRD seeing the away manager calling for the goal to stand and no penalty.

A comedy moment followed when the poor ref had the ball absolutely TWATTED into his face.

POW. Right in the kisser. I bet that bloody hurt.

Peckham were 2-0 up at half time, against a ten man Ide Hill.

The entertainment at the break was watching the official Peckham Influencer do his stuff in front of the camera on the pitch. I was half tempted to download Tik Tok to see how it all plays out.

A pretty dire second half then followed. The best it got was a Grandad centre half for Ide Hill doing his best to get himself sent off with his mouthy gob.

I think there was a Peckham player called Murillo.

Gosh.

The lower the level, the better the experience.

I found myself cycling through The Frontline on Saturday afternoon. This is usually a great cut through from Brixton through to Herne Hill and beyond. The LTN really works.

But not on Saturday.

There was another Reimagining Atlantic Road taking place, organised by the ever energetic Brixton BID.

You have to spend all that compulsory local taxation on something.

I kinda get the idea. Local businesses are forced to pay the BID a tax. In return, the BID needs to do the business.

Reimagining - which is a piss poor name btw - is about thinking the impossible: what if there were no cars?

But it’s not that impossible. Reclaim the Streets was shutting down Brixton three decades ago. No taxation on local businesses was collected either.

Instead we have Reimagining, which closes a stretch of the LTN, and an attempt is made to put on a street party.

Any enforced attempt to PARTY or have FUN usually leads to the opposite in my experience.

The local bars and restaurants benefitted. But not much. The space was a little sparse when I passed through at the peak period.

There was the usual kids face paining, which is hard to criticise. Plus some very lively and friendly DJ’s.

Shutting down an LTN though is a most strange decision to help celebrate the possibilities of what can take place on our streets.

Some thoughts on the Lady Mayor’s Show, 2025.

Yep, that’s right. It was the LADY Mayor’s Show. And quite right. This is 2025, ffs.

I’m not big on all the official stats and records. But I’m led to believe that this is only the third time there has been a Lady Mayor, but the first time that the Lord name has been ditched.

We’re getting there, Comrades.

Having said all that, I missed the Lady Mayor, natch. I crossed the Old Father at Waterloo, and then took up the nearest vantage point at Aldwych.

Road closures made it tricky to find a useful point to snap away without venturing further into the route. I couldn’t be arsed, tbh.

This was a very odd procession. It seems that half the world had turned up - no bad thing.

In was also heavy on military symbolism. Marching through the streets of London with guns is not something I want to see. Just not my shit.

SHOUT OUT to the dude who was marching with… a metal detector. Also the military man who drew the short straw to drag along an army snow sledge.

My fave livery was the cat apron. I’m not sure which Royal Guild these dudes were representing.

Respect to the kids wearing building site hard helmets with Palestine flags on the front.

Like I said - we’re getting there, Comrades.

The Pearly Kings and Queens were ACE. Proper old school London.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit etc.

I found myself waving away in a most infectious way to all the paraders. But not those carrying guns, obvs.

The farmers were vaguely political with their messaging on what should have been an apolitical event.

Naughty.

But not as naughty as the overt racism from a silly cow standing next to me.

I knew this was going to end badly as soon as she rocked up. She was arguing VERY LOUDLY with her partner right from the start. I suspect she was coked off her tits.

But that’s still no excuse for telling young kids enjoying the parade to:

“FUCK OFF BACK TO THE COUNTRY YOU CAME FROM.”

Quite unbelievable.

I really should have intervened. I wimped out, I’m afraid.

It brought an abrupt end to my Lady Mayor’s Show, 2025.

Hey hoe.

That’s one more ticked off.

Not once, but twice!

Overcast heading out, beautiful blue skies on the way back in.

Terry meets Julie, etc.

A return to Brockwell ParkRun for the second consecutive week. I could make a habit out of this.

Although perhaps not, given my current life plans.

Once again I was reminded that I use to spend my Saturday mornings plodding around Brockwell Park, some THIRTY years ago.

Blimey.

Never change, Jase. Never change.

Having been boxed in at the start last week, I made sure that I was at the front of the pack for the start. I legged it down the first hill, and then waited for the inevitable overtaking.

I’m now familiar with the new-ish Brockwell route. I was able to pace myself. I thought I was on for a strong time.

The dive bombing parakeets caused a little concern for me for the uphill sprint finish. I pushed on.

My final time was one second faster than last week. I was fourth in my age cat once again.

#smallwins, etc.

The official result also told me that this was my fastest ParkRun time this year.

This may - or may not - be my final Brockwell ParkRun. I checked my time when I first ran the race that’s not a race over a decade ago. My timing today is up on that original run.

Like a fine wine, etc.

Chin chin.

Cycling from the town centre, and through the Frontline. A few random snaps as I pondered how early or late I was for ParkRun. I never can tell.

The Dogstar is a sad story. It’s gone from being London’t first Mega DJ Boozer to boarded up. I hear that the building work required to reopen it is putting businesses off.

Cheese London always makes me smile.

Brixton misses Sam the Wheels. I hope his own personal parklet [URGH] survives.

Chapeau!