Domestic bliss, style and bread

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I have had a day of domestic bliss. An early run with the dog was fun. I heard or read that it is better to run after a coffee, so I tried it. Wow! What a difference. It was wild. A truly high speed dash around the leafy streets of Camberwell. I have taught Rollo the poodle to drink from my water bottle and we had a much needed swig under a tree in the park before buzzing off again to a roaring finish down Brunswick Park.

From there, breakfast in the garden with a friend, then a massive Domestic Series starting with 2 kilos of raw chocolate being made. Ah, my, it is so good. Nothing like commercial chocolate. An immediate high at the smallest slice. From there, a large loaf of fresh brown bread made by Louis and I. Golly it was delicious. I used to be able to kill yeast just by looking at it, but I must have softened, as I can now get bread to rise. The new economies of the credit crunch are rather fun right now, but I am quite sure that the glow of achievement will wear off quickly and it will become all become mundane, boring and normal, like the running semms to be becoming. Now I am used to it I can feel very lazy, almost making it an effort now, to get up and run. Argh! The joys of endlessly needing new entertainment and experiences.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a skateboard park watching Isadora rollerblading and Louis teaching himself to skateboard. Funny how fast they move onwards and upwards.

On the way home we saw a man with a duck’s arse (a hair style) and crepe shoes. Gosh, it has been ages since I have seen that. It brought so many memories flooding back of the styles that abounded years ago before everything got lost in a morass of Primark and blue jeans.

Mods, Skin Heads, Teddy Boys, Goths, New Romantics. What happened to style and fashion? Where are the new trends? Why is there no rebellion now against the dross of the High Street?

I remember being locked in Boy in the Kings Road in 1976 with the infamous John Krevine and his cronies and the famous burned foot in the Doc Martin boot in the window and all the Punks and Skin Heads fighting in the street. It was wild. So Exciting and startling, right outside the window, next to the number 22 bus stop. The following day the punks were all going down the kings Road handing out roses to the old ladies who were horrified by all that they had read in the Daily Mail. It was fun, vibrant and very naughty. Now it is endless knife crime by boys in ghastly sports gear. It really does not have the same ring at all. No good music, no style, just thuggery. I feel frustrated.