The other day after 2 hours helping to keep a radio show on air, I stepped out for a breath of air and some shopping.
In Tesco’s a man was struggling with the coffee vending machine whilst barking into his mobile phone: “Yeah, right, the thing was Barry, I had a f***ing cluster bomb, right, yeah a CLUSTER BOMB, all ready and you’ll never guess what this c*** did…”
Then I walked along Strutton Ground. This post may seem like a gratuitous attempt to mention Gabby Logan, but it’s not. It’s a gratuitous attempt to mention Strutton Ground. I like saying ‘Strutton Ground’. Try it yourself.
Anyway, I was walking along the street and a gust of wind caught a market stall with lots of glassware hanging up. It fell over. Smash. Smithereens. Shards a plenty. (There’s another word I’m using gratuitously – ‘shard’). Then a man in his 60s walked past barking about God and Satan and the other market stall holders (the ones not mourning glassware) parodied his gutteral voice and barked back that he should effing well be quiet.
There’s a street near Strutton Ground with an even better name. More on that soon.
I frequent a chinese buffet in Strutton Ground; handy when there’s a job at New Scotland Yard or ‘Abingdon Green’.
Nearby Old Pye St reminds me of old valve radios.