Dogs, joggers, kids playing football, stoners, sunbathers, drunks, swimmers in the park's Lido and paddling pool nearby but not in shot.
Showing posts with label brockwell park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brockwell park. Show all posts
Thursday, 25 June 2009
View from Brockwell Park towards central London
Dogs, joggers, kids playing football, stoners, sunbathers, drunks, swimmers in the park's Lido and paddling pool nearby but not in shot.
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
Insomnia exacerbates erratic time-keeping
No, nothing to do with one of the best dance anthems of the 1990s.
It was 5am before sleep came this morning. A kick in the cock that meant I didn't get up until 11.30. This in itself not unusual for me these days, but this morning was special because I decided to go for a jog around my rather beautiful local park.
A few weeks back I could only manage to complete a circuit of the perimeter path with three pauses. This time I got almost the entire distance before nearly collapsing. I sat down on the roots of a tree panting like Rik Waller on a treadmill. But I had to ignominiously walk the last 200 yards or so, even if I did feel better for having done some token exercise. Now where's that cake-topped lard and lager pie?
Gutted. Not only has the dog-tossing oven packed up but I can't go to some Red Bull-sponsored blag with a fellow ligger par excellence as I'll be in Norfolk. Still, how about a tune to up the mood?
It was 5am before sleep came this morning. A kick in the cock that meant I didn't get up until 11.30. This in itself not unusual for me these days, but this morning was special because I decided to go for a jog around my rather beautiful local park.
A few weeks back I could only manage to complete a circuit of the perimeter path with three pauses. This time I got almost the entire distance before nearly collapsing. I sat down on the roots of a tree panting like Rik Waller on a treadmill. But I had to ignominiously walk the last 200 yards or so, even if I did feel better for having done some token exercise. Now where's that cake-topped lard and lager pie?
Gutted. Not only has the dog-tossing oven packed up but I can't go to some Red Bull-sponsored blag with a fellow ligger par excellence as I'll be in Norfolk. Still, how about a tune to up the mood?
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