Limehouse Basin to Islington - a trudge

Gas thing

Went for a mooch on Sunday in the pissing rain because that's how I roll. Mrs Biff's insistence that i detach myself from the nerd box was the catalyst, and the promise of pizza for tea, changed at the last minute to curry, sealed the deal.
Got the DLR from sexy Lewisham to Limehouse then walked the path along the Regent's Canal. It's about 4.5 miles to Angel but we bailed at the Rosemary Branch pub because I used to live near there and hadn't been in for a while.
The pub's the same as ever - good selection of beers, normal-ish punters. There was a fella playing the piano, who appreciated Mrs Biff's slight inclination of the head and single clap as he rounded off his set.
Everyone in there seemed to be having some kind of laptop-off with each other, greedily snaffling the free wifi. Best of all though was the lad behind the bar brought out a tray of leftover roasties and Yorkshire puds (they do roast dinners in there, which look ace) and a pan of gravy for dipping. It was manna from meff-food heaven.
As for the walk itself, it's better doing this sort of thing in London than, say, the Lake District because there's none of that awful hello-ing or even worse the half-nod-with-a-smile-rising-to-a-sort-of-peer-out-of-an-imaginary-hole as you pass someone.
You just power on knowing that if anyone so much as looks your way you can lash them in the canal and be done with it. Cyclists especially. Bunch of wankers - slow the fuck down, this isn't Amsterdam. A ring of the bell doesn't make people vanish.
It's quite a nice walk but it got a bit chokka where the Shoreditch festival was on - it looked terrible, incidentally.
Best bit was a barge full of lesbians going up in the lock. I assume they were lesbians as there were three of them all together on one boat. Incredible scenes.

Dunno

A path for walking on

This is not art

Someone tied a load of meff Tesco bread bags to a rail

Evil Edna

The London Particular, New Cross - sarnie special!

This picture does this sandwich no justice at all

Is there a better trousers-on feeling than enjoying the first couple of mouthfuls of a mega-sandwich, knowing you've got loads left?
There's stuff about the thinking behind The London Particular elsewhere on the new internet you've read about so I won't bother with it here. Suffice to say the place, which was recommended by the Deptford Dame on the popular website Twitter is soopoib.
I had the warm sarnie of the day, in this case fancy-pants sausages, caramelised onions, rocket and some other stuff (possibly some kind of mustard) on nice, lightly toasted bread, possibly rye I'm not sure - hey, this isn't Which?
Either way, this sandwich instantly marched in to my top six ALL TIME sandwiches. And I'm a fussy bugger.
Sausages were sliced in twain, arranged in size order to fit the bread, and rested diagonally. Then the other stuff was ladled on with the second piece of bread resting atop, as is traditional.
Impressively for work of this spec, sandwich integrity was maintained almost throughout. Only one bit of sausage fell out and that was when I was trying to change the page of my book.
It also came with a sort of salad, which had pulses of some kind in there and spuds and - I think - noodles. Often the salad is an afterthought on these things but this was excellent.
Naturally I paired the brute up with a cup of coffee, and this, in football terms, was a bit special. Very potent but tasty - I asked for white and it came with barely a splash of milk as if to say, 'go on you Jessy, ask for more milk'. No chance mate.
There was a slight awkward moment with me and the lad working there when I asked the wifi code - that unique embarrassment when two people with hugely different accents baffle each other - but that's hardly his fault (or mine) and the service, like the whole visit, was good. For such a small space they fit a lot of people in comfortably and my grub was up within about five minutes.
Now this place isn't cheap - it came in at £9.30 (the sarnie was an eye-watering £7.50) but it was worth it. I was still full six hours later, not bleurgh full, just not hungry. And it was, as has been established, very tasty. Next time I'm having the baked tommies, fancy ham, and hoity-toit cheddar on toast.

A monkey?

Then I mooched off down Deptford Market where I saw this intriguing poster - what can have been in the case to illicit such a plea, and reward?
The London Particular is at 399 New Cross Road, SE14 6LA. Out of New Cross station turn right, over the bridge, past the Walpole pub, past the chippy where Paul McCartney and his mrs got chips and a pickled egg (according to the signed docket on the wall), and it's there on the right. If you live in the area you should go, otherwise you're wasting your tastebuds.

piss take

Red light

This is the bit of road where a couple of years ago I got a fine for parking in the red zone while I nipped in the shop to buy some ice cream (Hagen Daz fancy pants stuff). Sixty bastard quid it cost me.
Not only have these coppers in their unmarked car done the same thing (except the ice cream bit) but they were rubbing it right in by having their blue and red lights flashing - you can sort of make it out on the pictures - while they were in the Chinese on Lee High Road.

Blue light

Double rubbing-in points for the parking - look at it! Right in the middle of the bay, thus negating it as a space for whoever the crap it is gets to park in red zones. I don't know if the police are allowed to park there or not but having the lights on when it did not look like they were 'attending' (below) seems a bit rum.

I've seen coppers, presumably from nearby Lewisham nick, come out of Nando's with a bag of grub, get in the van parked outside and whack the sirens on before roaring through the lights. Presumably they want to get their food back to the rest of the chaps nice and handy, and that's fair enough, but this is just taking the whatever.

"And some prawn crackers, love"