A Spring in my Step

I have decided to write about something a little more light hearted from my previous post.

Spring has well and truly arrived to these shores - it feels as if the birds are singing louder, colours are more vibrant, the air fresher. For this reason I was determined not to spend my weekend behind closed doors.

On Saturday I decided to make the trip up to Hampstead Heath with a friend. Making the wrong way down the street upon arriving at Belsize Park was a minor hiccup for us since it was corrected by a short bus journey, but I suspect it was a slightly bigger obstacle for the man who was running the cross country race taking place that day whom I sent on his merry way in completely the wrong direction. For all the iPhone's prowess and gadgetry, it is on too often an occasion the loser when it comes to a direct fight between it and asking for directions.


Upon arrival to the Heath, we were greeted by puffy cheeked runners making their way around at what seemed a ridiculously fast pace, just watching them made me feel knackered. After about an hour's walk in the glorious sunshine we made it to our next stop, the Spaniards Inn, a must if you happen to be in and around the Heath.

http://www.thespaniardshampstead.co.uk/

I find the food there delicious and plentiful, providing proper sized portions much needed if you have exerted yourself prior to getting there. The meal and a beer topped of a great afternoon..


However, the day was not finished there. On the contrary, it was just beginning. I got a call from another mate to meet him for a drink. One beer became two, beer turned into whiskey (not our doing, we're not pretending to be Jesus), well you know how it goes. My friend smokes rollies and I attempted to roll my own. The first was bad but smokable, the second a better effort but as the night wore on, my attempts became less and less successful to the point where their shape resembled an anaconda that had recently devoured a camel. The drunken night ended in an Irish pub called the Boston, which for all its shortcomings, had the undeniable charm of a dump that makes you feel like you are in the waiting lounge of death.



Sunday was another scorcher and getting up to play tennis was not easy. Coordination and the ability to concentrate was greatly reduced, but it was as perfect a day to play as you will ever get. An added bonus was that I managed to sweat out most of the poison still circumnavigating my body. Luckily tennis is an individual sport and I didn't get too close to anybody, I must have smelt like the Old Boston itself..