Fab Foodie
hanging-on in quiet desperation ...
- Location
- Kirton, Devon.
Last Saturday evening at about 1800hrs I set of from Morden S. London on fabulous ride of reminiscence. In ’82 I moved from Exeter (my home town) to attend South Bank Poly at the Elephant and Castle. My digs were in Clapham and my daily transport was going to be a 5 speed bicycle, not the Northern line. This was my first ever commute and it was fab! After a week I hooked-up with a lovely lady student from Morden and now my trusty bicycle was not just a commuting iron, but the means to maintain a lustful relationship. I soon found myself commuting the whole of the Northern line from Morden to the Elephant. I’d often kiss Jane goodbye at the Elephant tube and race her to either Clapham South or Morden, over 90% of the time the bicycle blitzed the tube. There were many mildly intoxicated pedals home at 2 and 3 in the morning too.
So, almost exactly 26 years since the day that we met, I hooked a leg over my TCR and pedalled up the road towards Colliers wood…
Well Savacentre’s pretty new, but what surprised me most was how little had changed. The traffic up the incline that is Tooting is just as it ever was, nose to tail, stop-go, the sights, sounds smells were just as I remembered… I was grinning inanely, left at Tooting Bec up towards and along Nightingale lane, a quick left at the Nightingale pub took me along Sudbrooke road where I had lived with a marvellously eccentric family. Left at Clapham South and along by the common… the pond with the fishermen (how weird), the Windmill, scene of many a beery student night, the wine bars of Clapham high road have certainly proliferated. Stopped at lights after Clapham I looked left to see my reflection in Denton’s Catering Equipment shop as I had done many times when a younger far slimmer man looked back. Then Stockwell, Oval Kennington, apart from the shrine to that poor Brazilian chap killed at Stockwell and the demise of the Freeman’s catalogue building I could almost have been travelling in a time warp. The distant sight of the Gherkin directly up the road was a constant reminder that I’m now 45 in 2008 not 19 in the early ‘80s. Carving around The Elephant seemed instinctive. It was a warm evening, I was in heaven… I’ll carry-on… up Borough road past the old market and then a right out to Tooley street and a crowded Tower Bridge. To the east the sun was low over the centre of the river, the buildings shining pink in its light. A quick sprint up to and around the Gherkin (well that was new), a few loops back and forth over the bridges, screaming along the Embankment, Parliament Square and then following the river down to Battersea bridge. There was now a chill in the air, home beckoned. I plotted a rough course back to Clapham via Lavender Hill, Clapham Junction. Left at Arding and Hobbs and along the cut to wind back to Nightingale lane where I rejoined the Northern line back to Morden. Hurtling down through Tooting once more was just as manic as I remember, the constant fear of a car not spotting you and suddenly filling the road, of errant pedestrians, of smoking brake-blocks and skidding rears. Like many times I managed the last miles unscathed. 26 miles, 2.5 hours, no record, but the warmest of glows inside. Not a spectacular ride but a personal voyage of the places sights and sounds that I inhabited during some of the best years of my life. I tried to describe how much pleasure those 2.5 hours had been to Jane (or the long-suffering Mrs FF) but somehow she just didn’t seem to understand. Maybe that’s why I’m writing now, I jus needed to share.
There are many great roads to travel in this world and I hope to travel more, but I’m certain that my favourite ever cycle-route will be the one that follows the Northern line from Morden northwards.
FF. Sept 08
So, almost exactly 26 years since the day that we met, I hooked a leg over my TCR and pedalled up the road towards Colliers wood…
Well Savacentre’s pretty new, but what surprised me most was how little had changed. The traffic up the incline that is Tooting is just as it ever was, nose to tail, stop-go, the sights, sounds smells were just as I remembered… I was grinning inanely, left at Tooting Bec up towards and along Nightingale lane, a quick left at the Nightingale pub took me along Sudbrooke road where I had lived with a marvellously eccentric family. Left at Clapham South and along by the common… the pond with the fishermen (how weird), the Windmill, scene of many a beery student night, the wine bars of Clapham high road have certainly proliferated. Stopped at lights after Clapham I looked left to see my reflection in Denton’s Catering Equipment shop as I had done many times when a younger far slimmer man looked back. Then Stockwell, Oval Kennington, apart from the shrine to that poor Brazilian chap killed at Stockwell and the demise of the Freeman’s catalogue building I could almost have been travelling in a time warp. The distant sight of the Gherkin directly up the road was a constant reminder that I’m now 45 in 2008 not 19 in the early ‘80s. Carving around The Elephant seemed instinctive. It was a warm evening, I was in heaven… I’ll carry-on… up Borough road past the old market and then a right out to Tooley street and a crowded Tower Bridge. To the east the sun was low over the centre of the river, the buildings shining pink in its light. A quick sprint up to and around the Gherkin (well that was new), a few loops back and forth over the bridges, screaming along the Embankment, Parliament Square and then following the river down to Battersea bridge. There was now a chill in the air, home beckoned. I plotted a rough course back to Clapham via Lavender Hill, Clapham Junction. Left at Arding and Hobbs and along the cut to wind back to Nightingale lane where I rejoined the Northern line back to Morden. Hurtling down through Tooting once more was just as manic as I remember, the constant fear of a car not spotting you and suddenly filling the road, of errant pedestrians, of smoking brake-blocks and skidding rears. Like many times I managed the last miles unscathed. 26 miles, 2.5 hours, no record, but the warmest of glows inside. Not a spectacular ride but a personal voyage of the places sights and sounds that I inhabited during some of the best years of my life. I tried to describe how much pleasure those 2.5 hours had been to Jane (or the long-suffering Mrs FF) but somehow she just didn’t seem to understand. Maybe that’s why I’m writing now, I jus needed to share.
There are many great roads to travel in this world and I hope to travel more, but I’m certain that my favourite ever cycle-route will be the one that follows the Northern line from Morden northwards.
FF. Sept 08
. 
but definitely a 
