The Camberwell Triangle

It's been a funny old week, Sunday saw 'The Heights' cloaked in a 4 inch blanket of snow. My Sunday morning constitutional to the Horniman Gardens was transformed temporarily into a trip to Narnia. I headed to 'the wharf' and had fun dodging the enormous chunks of slush that were sloughing off the skyscrapers and hurtling earthwards, splooshing like Pteradactyl guano on the pavement. By 3pm I found myself in the Woodman pub in 'Lower Dulwich Heights' with Sam & Ben with the snow all but gone. The sweet potato bake 'wot' I had, delivered on a surprising 5 levels, it had actually only promised 3, so full marks to the chef at the Woodman.
Anyway, the rest of the week wasn't so relaxing, I've not left work before 9pm most nights due to these bloody Alton Towers trains. But they're going to look great, you must all go, all two of you who look at my blog. The late evenings saw me stranded on Waterloo Road with an emergency pasty (the fumes from the pasty shop whaft up the escalators onto the Waterloo concourse, as you know I dissapprove of fast food and was certainly brought up not to eat on the street, however when you've done a 14 hour day and not eaten since 12, I defy anyone not to pass the pasty shop). They glow like little crispy golden Cresent Moons lined up and I wish I could just curl up inside one and have a sleep. The heat brought on by the pasty related guilty pleasure soon subsided as 30 mins later no 176 had materialised.
10:30pm Then two, COUNT THEM, two 176's sauntered up, as they do. BOTH TERMINATING AT CAMBERWELL GREEN! I asked the driver of the 2nd one if any buses would be going to 'the Heights' this evening. "In ten mins, he said. "the buses are running late", he said, What does that mean? They're not running late, they're just not running, or at best they're running so late they've actually caught up with the time table and I've lost ten mins of my life in a timewarp/ wormhole on Waterloo Road. I reluctantly got on the bus, replete as I would expect with a good sprinkling of nutters, Africans reeking of mothballs, tortured chicken bones strewn across the floor and various beverage bottles rolling 'Japanese Torture' style up and down the deck. The tisk tisk tisk of 'Jiggy Batty' R& B garbage finished the charming scene beautifully. The soporific effect of the Elephant & Castle roundabouts and traffic calming measures of is the 'infected colon' of South London, aka the Walworth Road had me nodding off. To my horror the bus decided to terminate at the nadir of the bus route, not even Camberwell Green where at least I'd have crack heads and rapists for company. It's the bit where the buses change drivers next the the LAUN__RETT_, who's profile acrylic lettering I've enjoyed watching deteriorate slowly over the last 6 years, only when it reads __UN__RE_T_ will I feel my job is done. 11:15 and a Penge (Pawleyne Arms) bus eventually turns up and I am 'Heights' bound. I endure the bus being stopped, lights put out and the soul crushing sound of the engine shuddering to a stop as yet again, arrogant, swaggering 'bluds' waddle onto the bus with their trousers round their knees and refuse to pay. They shoot upstairs no doubt to quietly read poetry or discuss world affairs. Evetually they are shamed into getting off. We swap death stares. I know they were frightened by me. From then on we swoop up Denmark Hill, glower at the beer swillers at the George Canning, wave to Jenny Eclair, watch the scumbags alight at Dog Kennel Hill in a hail of chicken bones, Supermalt bottles. I tut. 10 mins later I arrive at The Horniman. It's 11.35 I can barely walk up the hill and contemplate spending a night with the foxes of Sydenham Rise. I endure and so to bed.