A weekend part remembered

Yesterday, by which I mean the day before as it is now past midnight and therefore Tuesday, I went to jfs and feistyredhead's BBQ in Ilford.

I have never been to Ilford before, and it is deep in bandit country, where the King's Writ does not run. Many years ago I spent the weekend in Forest Hill (conquering Stalingrad, but that's another story) which is admittedly not that far from Ilford, and I have, a couple of times been to South Woodford which is so far into the East End that it is practically in the Urals. But this was my first time in Ilford.

On exiting the station, my first impression was that the London A-Z lieth cruelly, and I am tempted to write them a note to that effect. You see, the map suggests that you exit the station, cross the road and you are in Ilford High Road. Indeed you are not. Cunningly, the road that looks most like a High Road or a High Street is not, and equally cunningly, the street name is not displayed anywhere until you have walked at least 100 yards in the wrong direction. This is clearly a feature of the London Borough of Redbridge since Ilford High Road, when eventually I found it was not identified at all, oh no. The fact that the town hall was on it gave me grounds for optimism as did the fact I found a map on the wall which confirmed that it was the right road. There was, I feel, an element of the Crystal Maze to that section of the journey.

Anyway, fortified by paracetamol and codeine, my tender foot was quite painless (and still is, hurrah!), so I was able to trudge along looking at the street names which seem to all have changed in recent years since all the street signs proudly announce that this was qwerty street formerly known as asdfg street or some such. I mean, why bother changing street names? It's not as if the old ones were rude or nasty in these increasingly sensitive times...

Well, I got there in the end, and found myself having to phone the back garden so that jfs could come and open the front door. Happily Ilford is close enough to civilization that my mobile continued to work.

( Herein Bryan discusses the guest list to the best of his memory... )

All told, a good barbecue, although my navigational skills were shown to be dreadful when caffeine_fairy and I ventured maybe 200 yards and around one corner in a futile attempt to purchase new supplies of Pimms. If I'd been alone I would no doubt still be wandering around the depths of Ilford like some lost soul, but there we are.

A little NWO frothage was indulged in, but not too much, and I seem to be partially back on track for GD in a fortnight's time, despite not having even the slightest piece of camping gear. Who organises an event with NO FACILITIES these days, I ask you?

Hm.

That's just about all I did this weekend, and it all happened on Sunday afternoon and evening.

A weekend part remembered

Yesterday, by which I mean the day before as it is now past midnight and therefore Tuesday, I went to jfs and feistyredhead's BBQ in Ilford.

I have never been to Ilford before, and it is deep in bandit country, where the King's Writ does not run. Many years ago I spent the weekend in Forest Hill (conquering Stalingrad, but that's another story) which is admittedly not that far from Ilford, and I have, a couple of times been to South Woodford which is so far into the East End that it is practically in the Urals. But this was my first time in Ilford.

On exiting the station, my first impression was that the London A-Z lieth cruelly, and I am tempted to write them a note to that effect. You see, the map suggests that you exit the station, cross the road and you are in Ilford High Road. Indeed you are not. Cunningly, the road that looks most like a High Road or a High Street is not, and equally cunningly, the street name is not displayed anywhere until you have walked at least 100 yards in the wrong direction. This is clearly a feature of the London Borough of Redbridge since Ilford High Road, when eventually I found it was not identified at all, oh no. The fact that the town hall was on it gave me grounds for optimism as did the fact I found a map on the wall which confirmed that it was the right road. There was, I feel, an element of the Crystal Maze to that section of the journey.

Anyway, fortified by paracetamol and codeine, my tender foot was quite painless (and still is, hurrah!), so I was able to trudge along looking at the street names which seem to all have changed in recent years since all the street signs proudly announce that this was qwerty street formerly known as asdfg street or some such. I mean, why bother changing street names? It's not as if the old ones were rude or nasty in these increasingly sensitive times...

Well, I got there in the end, and found myself having to phone the back garden so that jfs could come and open the front door. Happily Ilford is close enough to civilization that my mobile continued to work.

( Herein Bryan discusses the guest list to the best of his memory... )

All told, a good barbecue, although my navigational skills were shown to be dreadful when caffeine_fairy and I ventured maybe 200 yards and around one corner in a futile attempt to purchase new supplies of Pimms. If I'd been alone I would no doubt still be wandering around the depths of Ilford like some lost soul, but there we are.

A little NWO frothage was indulged in, but not too much, and I seem to be partially back on track for GD in a fortnight's time, despite not having even the slightest piece of camping gear. Who organises an event with NO FACILITIES these days, I ask you?

Hm.

That's just about all I did this weekend, and it all happened on Sunday afternoon and evening.