Dusty cars

From 1966 until we moved to Hong Kong in 1975, my family lived on Eton Avenue, in South London. I guess there were maybe sixty houses on the whole street, thirty on each side. As I remember it, in the early seventies, there weren't more than twenty cars in total.

These days, of course, most of the front gardens have been converted into parking areas, allowing space for a couple of cars per house. And you wouldn't have to go much further towards Kingston, just two or three miles away, to find residential roads that require a permit in order to park on them.

Even Hannah's new apartment had the parking bay costed separately, at fifteen thousand pounds. So, I can't imagine the cost of this parking space, tucked away beneath a building about half a mile south of Tower Bridge. Surely there's somewhere cheaper to store these dusty old cars?

I was in the subterranean garage because I was dropping my car off there before walking to my hotel on Borough High Street. I had spent the day travelling south with Dan, who was excellent company during the seven hour trek from Kirkby Lonsdale to his halls of residence in the heart of London.

I made the car drop off and checked in while Dan was unpacking and then we met up at St Christopher's Inn for a pint* before eating across the road at Indian Gourmet (which was excellent).

And then it was time to say au revoir: I went for an early(ish) night while he set off to meet some friends. I'm going to miss the little fella but I hope he won't miss me. (Well, maybe a bit.)

*Here's a nice little story, While I was waiting to be served, another guy came to the bar. The barmaid served him first and I threw him an "Oh come on" look only to find, once I was served, that he'd paid for my pint by way of apology.