Summer Sunday: 24 Hours

Last night I went clubbing for a farewell and only stayed til 12.30pm. I missed the last tube and got stranded at Tottenham Court Road. 

Surrounded by drunks and rubbish at my feet, the only redeeming factor was the hypnotic aroma of fried onions from a hot dog cart. The smell wafted down the entrance of the tube. I caved and bought a hot dog as I waited for the night bus.

The street vendor addressed me by "luv" and wished me a wonderful night. Little did I know, there was a crippling traffic jam with whiplash false starts ahead. I felt sorry for the bus driver. 

Although I left the club early to salvage the next morning and to avoid drinking, I got home much later than expected. And felt a bit jaded for cutting my evening short.

The next morning we had brunch at Bea of Bloomsbury's Diner. It was a makeshift kitchen and dining area inside an arch of a railway bridge near Bermondsey. 

Brunch on benches. Retro music, random cutlery baskets and jam jar glasses. The buttermilk pancakes were good. It was uncrowded at 11am, perhaps too early for hipsters but great for us. (Grant is trying to stifle a cough here.)

It was a sun shiny day. I was looking forward to spending the afternoon with my girlfriend's at Winchmore Hill. We had lunch and went for a stroll around the park. It was hot and the mere sitting on a park bench in the shade was a joy.

I must be having a bad transit weekend. Getting back to the city meant taking a rail replacement bus. It was so hot inside the bus, my tongue was almost hanging out of my mouth!

It took an eternity to get to my next destination. I was tired but determined to stretch the day. A friend had a BBQ on his rooftop terrace and it was lovely to catch these sights of Barbican.

  

By 9pm it was time to go home. The sun was down and by then I was too shattered to function. I spent the rest of the night on the couch playing Candy Crush Saga (and as an addict, I'm not ashamed to admit it!)