Oh, for a beakerful of the Warm South
Posted on Wednesday 2 January 2008 by John Snuggs
It’s been noted (and not just by me) that there’s a considerable Norf Lahndan bias to our rides programme.
Indeed, we’ve been called upon on occasion to undertake the gruelling expedition, before the ride even starts, via the towering peaks of Hampstead or East Finchley, or across the trackless wasteland of the Lea Valley, to some far-off outpost of the nearest thing you get to civilisation in Norf Lahndan - a region so primitive that it has hardly discovered the Overground Railway, with public transport to rival that of Mozambique.
I mean to do something about that.
From the next time I’m asked, all my rides (except one) will procede from Victoria, Waterloo or Charing Cross, or even, without recourse to the railway, commence in the exotic pleasure domes of Crystal Palace, Croydon or Sutton.
They will visit the charming mountain pastures and fertile, welcoming plains of Surrey, Sussex, Hampshire and Kent, where the hart and coney frolick, rather than the blasted heaths and treacherous marshes of Hertfordshire, Cambridgeshire or Essex, still home to the warlike, painted children of Boudicca.
And you’d better all turn up, three-star people.