East Croydon to Woldingham, 15 February 2014

Varieties of rain and mud
East Croydon to Woldinham
15 February 2014
8/9 people
LDWA

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East Croydon's suburbs glistened
Under a steady damp drizzling rain
We slipped and slid up the viscous
Muddy slopes of Croham Hurst.

The sun shone in gloomy forests
Stinking paths of rotten leafy mud
Then dry and sandy yielding clay
And up a steep flight of rustic stairs.

We watched the grey rain pour down
From a boozy warm pub's windows
Set out in torrential driving rain
Across wheat fields of liquid mud.

Hail pelted us with volleys of needles
At Chaldon Church we prayed for sun
Our wish was granted and we dried
On the North Downs Way to Woldingham.

The Grid Southfields

I often wonder about the strange names of the streets in area known as The Grid

I like to give the names of these old  Victorian streets
Imagined etymologies evoking fantastical histories;
To mythologise these foursquare red brick dwellings
As I traverse their abscissas and their ordinates.

The Huguenot weavers of Astonviille once fought
The local rustics of Trentham, policed by the militias
Of Elborough and Engadine, who also helped suppress
A revolt by the Gaelic pipers of Clonmore Street.

Sadly, the stream in Brookwood has now been lost,
Only Horse Close Wood now remains of the forest,
And the lavender Fieds of Lavenham are no more;
The wicked Earl of Revelstoke no longer plays his games.


The residents of Heythrop were once a jolly lot,
Who drank ales and supped at Their local inn,
And those in Elsenham once made fruit preserves,
To the great delight of the residents of Replingham.

The tubes: a South Londoner's view

On holiday in Uganda I spent some idle moments thinking about the multicoloured spider's web of underground lines which criss-cross the capital.

The coloured tubes criss cross our Capital
The cities of London and Westminster
A rainbow web linking ancient villages
Now urban towns in our unique city.

Black starts where the placid Wandle flows
Takes bowler hatted gents to city offices
And wealthy shoppers to big department stores
Bifurcating to Edgware and High Barnet in the North

Blue carries parcel laden travelers from all parts
To cheap hostels in musty Earl's Court streets
Where the Regency facades of Hangover Square
Hide many sins in dusty little rented rooms

Green runs from the leafy South Western suburbs
Along the mighty Thames to the city and out again
Ending at the marshy urban plains of the East
Whose topography first gave London its name.

Yellow follows Green in one long round trip
Giving drunken revelers the chance to try our pubs
In a circular route to vomit soaked oblivion
A pointless exercise in self humiliation.

Orange is the colour of the new built Overland
Which links diverse outlying parts of town
To the White City shopping conglomeration
And Clapham Junction's many starts and ends.

Red crosses the capital from Eastern woodlands
To the lawyers' chambers called temples
Stopping at the West End and Royal parks
Before taking us back to Ealing in the West.

London's ebb and flow pulses along these tubes
With its morning and evening transhumances
Between its heart where money dominates
And the leafy suburbs where people live and breathe.

Companions

This was written while on holiday in Uganda after hearing some sad news about a friend who may have become somewhat isolated in his flat.

We chat with our friends all over the word
Exchanging pictures and snippets of gossip
But what happened to the old gregarious days
And pints of beer together in darkened pubs?

We sit in front of our flickering shiny screens
Sharing pleasantries about our petty lives
But we no longer press the flesh and hug
And look earnestly into each other's eyes

I sit alone in my little gloomy room
Tap tap tapping at tiny little buttons
But sometimes I miss my friends of yore
And my local pub is now a supermarket store.

Wimbledon Park

Written while on holiday in Kawuku, Kampala around Christmas 2013.

We enter by the tuck shop on the corner
Of Revelstoke and Elsenham streets
Stroll down the tree lined avenue
Past the happy picnicking family
Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles and children.

The bikini clad beach volleyball beauties
Show up here sometimes on a Saturday morn
Tennis players often play way into dark
The Shard on the horizon at the old police station.

Screams of joy from children on see saws
Ducks and swans swim around the boating lake
Centre Court illuminated on a winter's night
A row of poplars hide the athlete's pitch

Past Henman's Hill and Horse Close Wood
Where I often built play houses in my infancy
A tree lined stroll post Saturday footballers
Concludes my  perambulation in the park.

Petersfield to Rowlands Castle
10 November 2013
6 People am; 10 pm
28 km (17 miles)

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Like the rambling English train

From Clapham to Petersfield 

Looping through Virginia Water.

Our promenade meandered

Up Butser Hill's steep slopes

Where the silver Solent shone.

Through grassy fields and woods

Past runners who took their rest

In penumbra under golden leaves.

Then: a romantic windmill atop a hill

The post meridian setting sun

And a pint of cheer at the local pub.

Dorking to Westhumble

18 January 2014

10 people

29 km (19 miles)

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Flooded fields surround us in cold rain

The river Mole had burst its muddy banks

We wade across waterlogged pastures green

The rain stops and the cold sun shines.

Gloomy forests surround our uphill climb

Broken telegraph poles scattered in a pile

We meet another walker halfway to the top

In Coldharbour's cosy pub we eat and drink.

At the Tower we head towards a distant spire

Pass Wotton's rustic chapel in its field

The North Downs ridge and Dorking's lights

Refresh ourselves in the Stepping Stones at dusk.