Lazy London Life

Had a lovely weekend meandering round London. We are off to Rye next weekend for our monthly dose of bucolic bliss, but in the meantime I enjoyed the bits of the city that still have a small town feel. K and I spent the morning in Greenwich, having coffee and brownies at a lovely, newish artisan baker. They are redeveloping Greenwich Centre and our favourite café in the market has closed down, so this was a new experience. Not only was the coffee and cake to die for, but the bread I bought for dinner was delicious. God only knows why Greenwich hospital trust is trying to shove out the old, small and unique shops in favour of a boutique hotel and a cleaned up market, but lets hope this bakery and other such places survive.

I went on to Chiswick and K headed home for bloke time (guitars, CDs, the Simpsons and no girls doing noisy domestic chores!) as I was visiting my friend J-W and her two wee kiddies for afternoon tea. Having lived out that way for a couple of years over 6 years ago it was fun to wander the high street en route and I was amazed at how little it had changed. Greenwich take note. If it aint broke, don’t try to fix it. Sure, there was the odd new shop but all the core ones that I remember were there and yet it was still vibrant and modern. Staying the same need not necessarily mean getting stuck in ones ways.

I had a lovely time playing with the babies (as ever, glad to hand them back!) and gossiping in the garden, then K and I had a quiet eve and a big superfood salad for dinner to make up for the cakes, whilst we watched the footie. I am no soccer widow, preferring the ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ route. I do think K will tire of this soon as I ask lots of questions and view the game as a detached observer, rather than a pumped-up nationalist! I did, however, spot the goalies nerves before his big mistake of the night, so K could not deny that my input could be pertinent!

Sunday was a long training run then the obligatory domestic stuff. The weather was perfect for a run and I was doing fine until I came to an enormous hill in one of the parks (having already climbed 3 big ones!) and was planning to ease off when I spotted a toddler and his dad near the top. As ever, my ’can’t be seen to give up, must compete, must look the best’ gene kicked in and I kept on going right to the top. The desire to slow down was beaten when I heard the father say to the wee one ‘look at that lady running’ and knew I had no choice but to keep on moving in the upwards direction! The last thing I wanted was to be looked at, but God it did me good. The sweat was pouring off me when I got back and I realised it’s all too easy to play it safe unless something spurs you on. That said, knowing when to give up and not kill yourself trying is equally important! One of the characters on The Archers (yip, I’m a sad fanatic) recently died of a heart attack whilst out jogging. It certainly brings home to you the fact that health and death are not necessarily in complete correlation. When I got to the top my heart was banging furiously and I eased off a bit, but who knows where the tipping point is and at what stage you risk hurting yourself in order not to be seen as a wimp/pathetic/weak/incapable.

I am way, way too concerned with how others perceive me. Not just folk I know but, more significantly, strangers. People on the street, passengers on the train, shop assistants and anyone with whom I have a passing or casual acquaintance. Their opinion of me and what I purport to be carries far too much weight. I am more than happy to admit to close friends that I watch trash TV sometimes, occasionally flick through Heat magazine or purchase the odd mainstream CD. As for doing this in public, though, no bloody way! I read my Grauniad on the way to work and do the Standard crosswords on the way home, which I naively believe flaunts my intellectual prowess. I wrinkle my nose at the folk whose heads are buried in the gossip mags or The Sun as if they might actually care what I think of them. In all likelihood, they couldn’t care less and why should they? What’s sad in all this is my desire to project an image rather than be myself. It’s pretty difficult to enjoy doing things if you are railing against the pleasure gained from it in a desire to be something you are not. If I could just relax and enjoy the ride and hang what others think about it that would be progress.