I lied

The number of matches I saw Reidski play yesterday in his tournament did not in the event depend upon how much rain fell, but upon how bad the traffic was on the M1 through Bedfordshire. The traffic through Bedfordshire was fucking awful and I saw precisely none of his six matches. But I was there to see him collect the wooden spoon on behalf of his team. I was so proud :-)

I was also there at the bar to hear a staff member ask another if a wallet had been handed in. It hadn't. It never occured to me that the missing wallet could have belonged to Reidski, but clearly my recent run of luck has started to rub off on him and he had indeed had his wallet pinched. He took that so much better than I took having my bag pinched that I feel ashamed of my own reaction to that particular set back.

The tournament was in Barking. Through lack of attention on the way back into London I took us on the wrong road. I'm not saying the road we took was rough but we did fear we had strayed into Warrior's territory. Jesus H Christ.

Having escaped with our lives from North Woolwich we needed a drink and stopped off in Whitechapel as illustrated.



It has changed a wee bit since that photo was taken. Here, just down the road from The Blind Beggar we witnessed turf wars. Various gangs all trying to flog illegal DVD's and trying to scare off the opposition gangs. Crime? Whitechapel? How unusual.

London never fails to dazzle me with its contrasts.

After a lovely evening in with curry and watching Jerry Maguire. (Altogether now -"Show me the money!") we had a walk in Primrose Hill with what appeared to be all of London's assembled middle classes. A couple with matching cycles and bike helmets over took us talking loudly with the guy braying "Yah! But what DO you imagine the peasants in the fields of Thailand think of that daaaahling?" Reidski - "That you're a total arse?"

And then me back north the slow way - this time it was Hertfordshire that was motorway hell.

And I am missing him already.