The M25, not so much a road..more a way of life. And so it was on Friday mid-afternoon as I reflected on the proportion of the week spent eeking my way around its miserable, endless greyness. Excitement exactly null points and now well into middle age - It just ain't happenning for me Daddy-O. But rather than have a fully fledged breakdown, I weep uncontrollably at Tracey Beaker, buy Captain Beefheart CDs just coz John Lennon had a poster on his wall of 'Milk-is-Good' and career OFF the Superhighway at junction 12 as I suddenly remember I want to visit Chiswick House.
Parking up in Chiswick Mall next to the river at £2 per hour was a bit of a shocker as was walking down Pumping House Lane last visited in ~1986 when it was a wasteland; now nothing but exclusive riverside flats and houses. Was this the spot where Ringo moped about during Hard Day's Night ?
Of course the Beatles' London Book is not to hand - it never, ever is. And so I end up looking like the suspicious shoe-bomber walking up and down every path several times in the rain with a pained expression on visog as I desparetly try to recall the images in said favourite book; but every time I try to recall the pictures by the tree I can only see the images on Fabs at play near St. Pancras on MDO...
But wait..those statues look promising...
And then on to the Conservatory..but wait ! £8 quid a throw for a quick walk around ? Damnation ! There appears to be some sort of flower show going on celebrating the Camillia which probably explains why the average age of the park life was about 98. And so the rest will have to wait. Probably time to go anyway in case some of that clever software that identifies suspicious movements picks me out and I appear on some spook's screen as 'Nutter'
Journey back home - 30 miles and two hours. Ho-bloody-hum
... and I don't like Milk-Is-Good