thisisallonewordpress

Once again this weekend I failed
to sleep on Saturday night though
this time it was mainly the fault
of on-line poker which saw me win
back a fair few quid. At about 6
o’clock in the morning I then had
to decide if it was a good time
to hit the sack or if I should do
something with the day instead.
So at six-thirty I left the flat
and started walking through the
edge of the night toward Alexander
Palace and the sunrise that would
salvage my weekend from the bad
karma of gambling.

Walking these quiet roads there
is no-one else around until seven
except for two cars which pass me
on my walk. The garden centre has
already got Christmas decorations
up, from the pavement I can only
see a lit up angel, trumpet held
to lips but silent. It is cold out
so I have my hat and scarf along
with two t shirts and a jacket
which are doing a good job of
keeping me snug.

I walk through suburbia, past the
houses of taxi drivers, limosine
drivers, houses of people whose
post codes may say Wood Green but
whose houses state Muswell Hill
with aspiring hard stares. I get a
small bit lost and end up at a
different entrance to Ally Pally
to the one that I was expecting.
The gate I was heading for passes
a small fenced deer enclosure to
the back of the palace but I ended
up at a gate behind the duck pond
instead.

I then walked behind the palace
and found a new building which
looked sinister (and eighties)
in the half light. It was called
the laboratory and was some kind
of health club. I walked through
its grounds but the gate to Ally
Pally grounds was locked shut. A
good zombie location for sure.
So back the way I came, passed the
skate park and this time I would
walk in front of the palace. I
passed a blue plaque at the base
of the old broadcasting tower
which says that this was the
first place to broadcast high
definition TV, back in the 30s.

Picture a sunrise over London and
you may think of clear skies with
the odd whispy cloud perhaps.
Better than that this was a misty
morning, the tower blocks only 3
miles away slunk slowly into view
with the growing orange red fire
that spread with thick viscous
from the city. It was awesome
and more lovely than I had
imagined. I took a few photos
with my crap mobile phone and
cursed my not yet owning one of
those digital cameras. Maybe this
Christmas?

After that I walked down to where
the farmers market was getting
set up and then up towards Muswell
Hill. I passed an old women and
cheerfully said good morning. She
gave me a worried look then stared
down as she increased her pace.
Ah, London. I stop off and buy a
Double Decker, the king of
chocolate bars. I had only eaten
4 pieces of toast the day before
and I was getting peckish. Once
before I had searched for a greasy
spoon type cafe in Muswell Hill
but after asking someone they
replied; “a proper cafe? This is
Muswell Hill mate!” True, true.
French style orgainc cake shops
perhaps but no english fry ups
are to be found.

Onwards again to Highgate. There
are people up and around now,
mainly joggers in highgate woods
or shop keepers opening up.
Highgate woods is pleasant to
stroll through (joggers aside)
but the football pitch in the
middle is very muddy and my
walking boots and ripped jean
bottoms get coated. I had bought
these jeans, a good few inches
too long for my short legs, in
the hope that the ends would become
beaten looking, trendily scruffy.
But no. So they do pick up a fair
amount of baggage from the ground.

Passed highgate I walk down Fitzroy
Park, a lane which if you were
to say to me “I live there” then
I would instantly propose marriage
or suggest that I would make an
excellant house sitter when you
are out of the country. Across
Hampstead Heath I notice that my
scarf has gone. Bugger. Do I go
back for it or resign myself to
it’s loss? Well, it is a personal
favourite so I retrace my steps.
I ask a jogger if he’s passed it,
but no joy. Better luck from a
couple of dog walkers who tell me
that they saw a stripey scarf up
Fitzroy Park and so after going
back and picking it up I cross
the heath again, this time without
the loss of anything. Plenty of
fishing tents are pitched along
the side of the ponds (or lakes?)
with fishermen slowly emerging
with, I suspect, hangovers.

In Hampstead I pick up a paper
and then finally get to sit down.
A cup of coffee and a panini are
very, very welcome but it is the
rest that is the most important
treat. Down to Camden next where
I find the markets are in a much
different state to when I left
them, three years ago (or is it
less than that?). New luxury flats
are being built and the arches
are not accessable. I wander
around and wonder why everyone
seems to be French here. I stop
off in the Disk & Tape exchange
and pick up some post-rock 7″s
and then visit Fox who is living
in a flat or some illness. I
push Charlie along on his trike
towards Regents Park where he
goes on the swings – Faster!
Faster Daddy! – and then back to
Camden where I catch the bus back
north.

A good walk, maybe 9 or 10 miles.