Walk No.4 - Addington Hill via various South East London open spaces

Walk No.4 - Addington Hill via various South East London Open Spaces
Date: Sunday 27th December 2009
Time: 0930 to 1600
Weather: Dry, with occasional bright spells, a cold wind.
Length: 16 miles(!); verified by 3 members of the Hampstead Ramblers.
Quote of the day: 'Philosophy is homesickness' (by Plato - we think).

The Ramblers Society are trying to re-brand. Consequently they are hosting a nationwide 'Festival of Winter Walks'. I already mentioned that I'm a lazy arse and hate the responsibility of leading a walk, but I fancied some exercise to stir up the post-Christmas digestive juices and calm my roaming mind.

The 0930 start from Clapham Junction was unappealing but as I know from experience it's great once you are up! For once I had the perfect public transport experience - the 341 to Waterloo arrived exactly on cue and I even had time for coffee at Waterloo before taking the train to Clapham, arriving early!

It was hard not to spot the Ramblers; they conformed to type. But, if you can't beat them join them. And so we did. My walk partner was Alastair. He was pretty much on home turf, this being a south east London ramble and a lot of it was familiar to me. I lived for six months in West Norwood and grew to love solitary Sunday wanders around Dulwich Park, ambles around the diminutive Dulwich Picture Gallery and the food and drink places in Crystal Palace.

The walk leader was a reticent lady of a certain age. She said little and strode off at an alarming pace barely stopping to take breath. She became like a mirage on the horizon, a small, stooped figure who never got any closer. We lost 3 walkers over the course of the day and we brought up the rear for most of it. I have a new found respect for these people.

Clapham junction station by the ticket barriers: c. 10 conspicuous ramblers.
Clapham Common post-Christmas - dog walkers and joggers in black lycra.
The bandstand empty; the cafe closed; the toilets locked.

Brixton Prison walls, tall and foreboding.
A black painted windmill c.1816 (remember Brixton village).

Brockwell Park; manor house on a hill.
A green refuge from Afro-Caribbean craziness.

Dulwich Village, leafier and more refined.
Dulwich College: a bastion of schooling for boys.

Dulwich Wood in mud.
A dog's delight.

Crystal Palace at the height of telecommunications.
And home of a very large swimming pool.

Twisting and turning through suburban streets.
Marvelling at the pebble dash.

Tired legs and tired tongues.
The gaps between us widen.

A dash to the finish up a muddy hill.
Sundown from the viewpoint: London lit up.