It had been a long while since I rode on a Saturday for one reason or another and it was good to use a beautiful sunny autumn day to reacquaint myself with the Beddington Park Cafe, the dazzlingly original new name of the Pavilion Cafe. This was especially so as Maggie was coming out for the first time in a while to continue rehabilitation of her shoulder. As she was restricted to 15Km by the Physio and to no hills, the Wandle Trail was her only realistic option.
Since that destination had apparently been a regular one during our absence, we were prepared for me to lead the others on a different ride while she went to see Willian Morris' old printing house.
There was another consideration, too. Five of us were planning a knees-up night out and since I had seen somebody googling Night Life in Wallington I was looking very much forward to this and wanted to get back in good time to get changed for an adventure and a few ratafias and absinthes in the Hellfire Club. The only potential fly in the ointment was the possibility of a newcomer; I could hardly just take them for two laps of the park and a cup of tea in the caff just because I wanted to live the life of a dissolute.
All five potential stay-outs were there but we were really pleased to see Clive had turned up too; he had not been put off by his August ride with us. And it all fell in place because the other ravers felt even Elmers End would be too far in the circumstances and Clive had already decided to accompany Maggie rather than ride with us lot. So we agreed to meet at MED, Maggie and Clive going the short route up the Trail, the four of us going the exciting route where you get to pass no fewer than two bus garages, cross two tram lines AND - get this - wait at a proper level crossing.
We might even have got there before them, too, had I not forgotten where we were going and headed off towards Elmers End instead. Nobody said anything; they all assumed I had invented a new route!
All turned out well, to a point. The pumpkin and ginger cake at MED was especially delicious, Clive enjoyed himself and the rest of us got to go out. It was not a night club to which Ken and I were taken but the Epsom Philharmonic where we watched a six foot fourteen year-old lad play Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto rather well. He must have been practising. And Anna and Roger went to the picture house to watch a talkie. I hope their night out was more exciting than The Whispering Moon in Wallington; ours certainly was.




