Friday, April 28, 2006

I remember an old busker who used to play a one-string fiddle outside the Lyons in Kingston. Lyons was on the river side of Thames Street, and I used to like their hot Ribena, which came in a glass held in a metal holder.

I remember going to Headley Heath one Boxing Day with my new walkie-talkies.

I remember riding on Bruce's back. He was a red setter belonging to my aunt and uncle.

I remember El Cordobes. i think I even had a poster.

I remember one lunchtime being amused by a bloke singing along at the top of his voice, arms waving, to We are the Champions by Queen. It was at the Charlie Chaplin, a pub in the Old Kent Road, and a stripper was on stage dancing to it, but it was the drunk who I found fascinating.

I remember an old guy who used to sit on a bench in the grounds of St Leonards in Streatham, which I used to walk through on my way to work. The first time he asked me for change I said "no, sorry" to which he replied "sorry - you don't know the meaning of the word". So then I used to give him 50p if I saw him on or just after my pay days. The last I remember of him was that he thought he'd roll up his trousers and show me the sores on his legs. I still always acknowledge beggars and apologise to them if I'm feeling neither flush nor generous. They usually seem to appreciate it.

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