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And it was New Cross, New Cross...
Jun. 13th, 2010 12:16 pmWe take the excitingly new 'n' shiny East London Line Overground from Dalston Junction (oh! I love it when old train stations are re-opened. Maybe they can re-nationalise them as well) to New Cross. The trains are on time as well as airconditioning (which blows at ankle height, but still) and they are lovely and wide, making them suitable for bikes. There're even lifts and loos. The East London line gets the coveted ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
millionreasons seal of approval.
We get off at my old stomping ground (my first summer in London back in the Jurassic period of 1993 was spent in SE14) and cycle through Deptford, down the side of a railway arch, across the Ha'Penny bridge, over Deptford Creek and pop out of side road into Greenwich town centre. Into the park and up the hill, across the road to Blackheath where they are having a Kite 'n' Bike festival, which features genuine old people on penny farthings, basking sharks swimming to Chinese music, fluttering dragons, a dancing cat, a mutant flower and a flippery frog. There is even a kite commentator. It's all very gentle and rather sweet. The food on offer is poor, so we trundle down the hill to Blackheath village and eat in the sunshine in a deli which is pleasant enough to stop the Northerner in me coming out (£2.75 for a salad garnish of two leaves of lettuce and some small bits of pepper?!)
***
Our next door neighbours have put a huge St George's flag on their balcony. Am tempted to a) ask them if they're supporting Turkey and b) snip the string that is holding it up and c) put a big Germany flag on our balcony. I always find it quite amusing when there are parochial England flags at abroad games, Grimsby Town, Wallsall, Eindhoven (?) are on show at the first Engerland match of World Cup '10.
We did attempt to go out to a local hostelry to watch the game, but unfortunately everyone in North London had not only had the same idea as us but started 6 hours ago (or yesterday if you count the Wetherspoons), so we repair to the Homerton house to watch it with beer and vodka and Allan, Heike, Lisa, Matt and Martin. The latter competes with the vuvuzela as he talks all the way through the first half (the vuvuzelas at least drown out the theme from Dambusters). He has also lent Heike and Allan's hoover to the neighbours which Allan is very concerned about. The rest of us are more concerned as to when Capello is going to BRING ON CROUCH. At the 70th minute, when it still hasn't happened, we are very nervous. Dave thinks the match is comparable to a a midweek Tottenham vs Bolton game. "What's important right now is that they Bring On Crouch," quoth Martin. "What's important right now is that we get our hoover back," says Allan. There is a bigger cheer when Peter C does do a robot warm up and lollops, baby gazelle-like, onto the pitch than when Gerrard scores, probably because were were watching it on ITV HD - which then went on to show the England conceded goal over and over and over again, interspersed with other goalkeeping fails from previous games which made David Beckham cry. Don't make David cry! The worst post-goal camera shot was from behind the net as Green took the ball to kick it back to the centre-spot and all the England players walked away from him, saying nothing, but saying everything. I really don't see, when clubs plunder African countries for cheap strikers, why we can't find a decent foreign goalkeeper and naturalise him. Perhaps Bert Trautmann has a grandson.
Afterwards, Allan brings out his art school DVDs from 1994 featuring a James Bond spoof filmed in a terraced house in Swindon with Wedding Present and Benny Profane posters on the wall and drying socks on the radiator, as well as some lego performance art. And then it's just the wobbly ride home, passing an East London fox that doesn't try to bite our faces off. Loser.
Anyway, that's probably the last game I'm going to watch. For Algeria I'm away and then Slovenia I'm at work, and then England's coming home, they're coming home, they're coming home (etc).
millionreasons seal of approval. We get off at my old stomping ground (my first summer in London back in the Jurassic period of 1993 was spent in SE14) and cycle through Deptford, down the side of a railway arch, across the Ha'Penny bridge, over Deptford Creek and pop out of side road into Greenwich town centre. Into the park and up the hill, across the road to Blackheath where they are having a Kite 'n' Bike festival, which features genuine old people on penny farthings, basking sharks swimming to Chinese music, fluttering dragons, a dancing cat, a mutant flower and a flippery frog. There is even a kite commentator. It's all very gentle and rather sweet. The food on offer is poor, so we trundle down the hill to Blackheath village and eat in the sunshine in a deli which is pleasant enough to stop the Northerner in me coming out (£2.75 for a salad garnish of two leaves of lettuce and some small bits of pepper?!)
***
Our next door neighbours have put a huge St George's flag on their balcony. Am tempted to a) ask them if they're supporting Turkey and b) snip the string that is holding it up and c) put a big Germany flag on our balcony. I always find it quite amusing when there are parochial England flags at abroad games, Grimsby Town, Wallsall, Eindhoven (?) are on show at the first Engerland match of World Cup '10.
We did attempt to go out to a local hostelry to watch the game, but unfortunately everyone in North London had not only had the same idea as us but started 6 hours ago (or yesterday if you count the Wetherspoons), so we repair to the Homerton house to watch it with beer and vodka and Allan, Heike, Lisa, Matt and Martin. The latter competes with the vuvuzela as he talks all the way through the first half (the vuvuzelas at least drown out the theme from Dambusters). He has also lent Heike and Allan's hoover to the neighbours which Allan is very concerned about. The rest of us are more concerned as to when Capello is going to BRING ON CROUCH. At the 70th minute, when it still hasn't happened, we are very nervous. Dave thinks the match is comparable to a a midweek Tottenham vs Bolton game. "What's important right now is that they Bring On Crouch," quoth Martin. "What's important right now is that we get our hoover back," says Allan. There is a bigger cheer when Peter C does do a robot warm up and lollops, baby gazelle-like, onto the pitch than when Gerrard scores, probably because were were watching it on ITV HD - which then went on to show the England conceded goal over and over and over again, interspersed with other goalkeeping fails from previous games which made David Beckham cry. Don't make David cry! The worst post-goal camera shot was from behind the net as Green took the ball to kick it back to the centre-spot and all the England players walked away from him, saying nothing, but saying everything. I really don't see, when clubs plunder African countries for cheap strikers, why we can't find a decent foreign goalkeeper and naturalise him. Perhaps Bert Trautmann has a grandson.
Afterwards, Allan brings out his art school DVDs from 1994 featuring a James Bond spoof filmed in a terraced house in Swindon with Wedding Present and Benny Profane posters on the wall and drying socks on the radiator, as well as some lego performance art. And then it's just the wobbly ride home, passing an East London fox that doesn't try to bite our faces off. Loser.
Anyway, that's probably the last game I'm going to watch. For Algeria I'm away and then Slovenia I'm at work, and then England's coming home, they're coming home, they're coming home (etc).
