Woke up today, peered outside and noticed the skies were clear and the sun was shining. After performing ablutions and taking in sustenance set off solo to Blackheath on a 386 to an annual Christmas Fayre in the concert halls there.
Paused in the charity shop and browsed the books, fillums and vinyl records and noted that 2nd hand goods cost twice as much in a Blackheath charity shop as they do in, say, a Deptford charity shop. Nothing there caught my fancy, not really into Max Bygraves or Bucks Fizz.
Queued up to get into the festive shindig, it was quite jam packed. A surly security person – I assumed he was security cos he had a walkie talkie hanging off his belt and was only wearing a shirt on top in this weather so must be well tough – was giving me the eyeball. Glowering at me. I thought ‘Why? I don’t look like a threat do I?’
So I gave him a look back that I hoped said ‘Back off or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat’ but which this young oik probably interpreted as ‘Please leave me be for I am old and frail’. As I queued nearer to the entrance I peered inside and noted that nearly all the stalls I could see were selling Christmas goods, puddings, cards, little donkeys and the baby jesus, that sort of thing.
I thought to myself what the hell am I doing here, I don’t even celebrate Christmas and that, coupled with the spotty security fella’s glaring at me, caused me to turn around and exit before I’d coughed up the two quid to get in. C’est La Vie.
On the journey home I missed the 386 so decided to walk home. I set off towards the heath noting that Falconwood Estates was still there, an estate agents office who rent properties. I rented 2 properties from them, at Westcombe Park Road ‘76 - ‘79 and Canadian Avenue ‘82 - ‘85. Approached the old church on the heath and recalled that when I used to come to the nearby pond to catch sticklebacks as a kid I said to myself ‘I’ll get married in that church one day’ cos I liked the look of it. It was, and still is, stately imo.
However, by the time I’d reached the age where I would consider marriage I had long decided that churches were not the places I wished to frequent.
Walking across the heath I cast a long shadow and saw people from all walks of life out and about strolling and enjoying a dry English day. A feelgood factor, I suppose.
Through Greenwich Park where always a million memories come flooding back from 1963 to last week and down the hill to the gate where a busker was singing a pretty good version of Wagon Wheel, as written by Bobby Dylon and sung by the Old Crow Medicine Show.
Stopped off at the clocktower market and picked up an original vinyl copy of The Best Of The Marvelettes on the Tamla Motown label for a tenner though it’s more doowop than Tamla. Doodalac, doodalac. And that was my day so far. Exciting life isn’t it?