70 things I saw on a long walk to a busy high street...
A dog walking a woman, a pigeon atop a memorial cross, flowering cherries, newly-refurbished sash windows, a Lime bike abandoned outside its designated area, a traffic warden with three electronic gizmos attached to the front of his hi-vis, a man pushing an empty pushchair, Santa Stop Here, a Tesco van with tinsel wrapped around the radio antenna, one ripe blackberry.
A new chilli-based takeaway, a woman carrying a roll of wrapping paper and a bag of Butterkist back from the shops, an Openreach van exceeding the speed limit, Ocado delivering canalside, the Gherkin over water, three dogs sniffing each other's backsides in an excitable loop, 13 joggers, a tree with yellowing unfallen leaves, a young couple kissing passionately beside a litter bin, three games of tennis.
A tied headscarf, a gnome on a red scooter, a vigorous outdoor weightlifting session, a frontgardenful of potted plants and fairies, a jeep with a Texan numberplate, a pensioner blaring out Son Of My Father by Chicory Tip while pushing a basket-on-wheels, a huge inflatable Santa, a grubby Gunners pennant, a truck carrying portaloos back to Maidstone, a Tudor house.
A 66 year-old black Citroen, two young men taking an inordinate interest in the architecture of Georgian front doors, an electricity worker up to his shoulders in a deep trench, Fanny Margaret's tomb, streaky pink hair, a man in a bobble-hat-and-shorts combo, municipal leafblowing, a flattened empty packet of Tunnock's tea cakes, a large pebble-filled pothole, a bored potter.
A flashing snowflake, a man coughing repeatedly from inside a snorkel hood, 55 mosaic hounds, a bench graffitied with a profanity insulting our Prime Minister, a comedy beard, two schoolboys using breaktime for a sneaky fag in the park, a ring of pilates, a mother loudly rebuking her toddler for 'fake coughing', a tiny unaccompanied dog, two damp Stella Duffy paperbacks abandoned on a wall.
A newsagent with Evening Standard branding across its shopfront, a chain of street trees bedecked with baubles and bunting, a sporty green Mazda MX-5 with a rainbow stripe, a poster for Now That's What I Call Music 107, lineside tree-felling, a ghost sign for a 50 year-old ironmongers, a closed bus stop, a closed theatre, a burrito counter in a former white goods repository, a sourdough takeaway.
A cafe offering Christmas lunch (including a glass of wine) for £9.50, a bookshop, a Post Office with queues inside and outside, another bookshop, a man collecting money for a mental health charity in a bucket, fresh steamed lobsters, racks of fruit and veg decorated with flashing lights, rolls of heavy duty refuse sacks, three vintage streetsigns on the wall above a Vietnamese cafe, mediocre civic illuminations.
...and 70 things I saw on the walk back
A cafe aimed at middle class children with moneyed mummies, a butchers doubling up as a wine shop, a paint-splattered man carrying two more tins, EstD 1894 Built 1929, a bus emblazoned with advertising encouraging me to visit Korea in 2021, a clock stopped at noon, a phalanx of six pizza delivery mopeds, a Post Office with even longer queues inside and outside, a rocking beggar, a bus map dated 27 March 2010.
Three lions' heads, shrieking children in a rooftop playground under a block of flats, a man marking the pavement around a bollard with an aerosol can of Survey Spray, grass growing in the segments of a manhole cover, a bush with a single yellow rose, a street with a festive name, an abandoned orange-scented cat scratcher, a Christmas tree on the desk in reception, advance warning of new width restrictions from 17th August 2016, a bottle of hand sanitiser dangling from a lanyard.
Christmassy windows, the name Zac Efron traced into concrete before it set, two mounted policewomen observing a squirrel, muddy puddles, a boy riding on the front of a cargo bike in a basket painted with shark's teeth, an empty bag of donuts, an avenue of planes, a woman in a leopard print coat cycling home with a Christmas tree strapped to the back of her bike, a disposable face covering improperly disposed of, a man doing pushups while resting his feet on Lancefield Hewit's memorial bench.
An excess of bollards, 'over 500 different types of light bulbs sold', Christmas Forest 8am-8pm, a bookshop, a dog yapping loudly at the queue for focaccia, today's breakfast special £6.30 (egg, bacon, sausage, chips, beans and two slices of toast), another bookshop, a dazzlingly white space for the purveyance of coffee, a 'Sold' board above an eel shop, Millie Is Still Missing (please check between your trellises).
A steam laundry, the Gherkin through a gasholder, an organic market selling biodynamic wine, a dozen taxis parked in a cobbled street, a pub apologising for not opening on 4th July, a padded front door, a painted crab, an orange Club biscuit wrapper, a mosque acting as a Community Food Kitchen, a single leaf resting on a windscreen wiper.
An abandoned hospital, a tattooed fish fryer smoking in the doorway of his chippy, seven Santas and a jolly snowman on an illuminated lawn, the nonplussed neighbour of the aforementioned display, a council block with an umlaut, a street named after a non-existent river, four solar panels on the roof of a canal boat, a family flouting the Rule of Six, a neighbour having a cheery chat while standing on his front wall, a man cleaning the windows of a former pub until they gleam.
Red tape being wrapped around a damaged brick wall, a parade of six shuttered shops, the gurdwara's wheelie bin, a hearse stopped at the traffic lights, bottles of de-icing fluid on special offer, a scruffy cider drinker chucking away a used roll-up, five bags of Christmas mail being unloaded into the back of an unmarked black van, the remains of a strip of police tape, a woman waiting for a bus in a cycle lane, an unexpected package resting against my front door (alas misaddressed).
