Saturday was too nice a day to be heading to the allotment by car. This place can be visited on foot and with cider. So this is what I did. It took a little over an hour and I was in desperate need of a piss by the time I got there. 

En route, I took a lovely stroll through Kingston Cemetery. The sea of headstones brings a little special to the world, reminding me of our fragility amid the beauty. I’ve always liked a good cemetery. Always a struggle as to where to stand, you’re always stood on someone, but I stuck to the main path and forgot that worry.

‘Touching’ is the wrong word, and ‘nice’ seems a little odd, when used to describe my spying on the bereaved. But it was nice and touching to see the time-outs people were taking to spend with those they’ve lost. There was a lady with a picnic and tins. She opened a can and clinked the headstone. There were grandkids helping grandma tend to her husbands grave. There were families and balloons — lone sitters — dog walkers. And to me, all of it was quite beautiful.

Love transcends, and in a cemetery on a lovely Saturday afternoon, you can see it.

On Sunday, I met up with Jackie and her 2 nieces and went to this adventure park near Kingston Cemetery. Zip-lines. Swings. Climbing frames. Extraordinarily wide slides. The place looked better than it actually was, the zip-line wasn’t the best I’ve been on (there’s a better one in Cosham) and the swing seat was slippy. I found, due to slippage, I couldn’t get myself up like a bird. Jackie resorted to lying on her back and swinging but in my mind, that was suggestive.

Despite our grown-up complaints, the 3 and 5-year-old had a great time. The zip-line, although shit in my eyes was the best they’d ever been on because it was their first, and therefore probably the best to start with.

I have noticed, since getting a car, that although I need no excuse to drive by weekday, I find every one I can so I don’t on the weekend. It probably has something to do with the weather.

My current best excuse is, I’ve got a good parking spot. I don’t want to lose my parking spot, got to leave some convenience for Monday.

This evening, I met up with my mate Sarah (we met at the waterboard) for dinner at the Harvester on Eastern Road. I’m usually a little wary of a Harvester’s since one meal I had where the peas were covered in a white powder. But I thought, Why not? That was 26 years ago. The chef might’ve changed.

Indeed, the meal was nice. Bread, stale. Chips a little dregs of the barrel. I had scampi. I quite like scampi. They didn’t fuck them up. Needless to say, I didn’t eat the peas.

This is the first time Sarah and I have met since I got Bertie, so introductions had to be made.

I was telling her about how I can’t start him first time and how every seasoned driver who has tried, can. She got in and couldn’t. We’ve decided I need to go back to the garage. Sarah heads to her own car and Bertie starts up first time, no issue. Eager to go! (I think someone might’ve been listening.)