16 November (Part 1) - Danson Park. Never again
One
day a week is devoted to walking so that I get away from this keyboard occasionally.
I join up with a gang of old men and we usually catch a bus somewhere and then walk
until we just happen to stumble across a Weatherspoons for a £1·99 pint.
(Until it goes up courtesy of Rachel Reeves National Insurance hike.)
We are running out of new walking routes and this week we were reduced to getting a
301 to Bexleyheath and walking to and around Danson Park. Unfortunately everyone
but me can’t go long without dropping into a coffee shop. Until I fell into this new
habit I am pretty sure I had never been inside a Pret or a Costa or any other
rip off joint of this nature and not had the pleasure of paying around three quid for lukewarm coffee.
And that was how I came to visit the Danson Park caff for the first time ever.
In these joints I usually look around to see if they have any gluten free cake
because I always like to support outfits that look after coeliacs. Only the café
in Charlton House Park ever has and not as expensive as the cafe in the Natural
Museum a few weeks ago. All cakes £5·75 each. I didn’t even buy a coffee there in protest.
The notable thing about the Danson House café was that none of the cakes were
priced and neither was there a price list for tea or coffee or anything else and
customers are expected to buy blind. I handed over four pounds and got a couple
of coins back. I didn’t actually count it but it was almost certainly 25 pence.
We won’t be going there again.
One of our number had had enough walking after circumnavigating the lake once
and my bus App said a B14 was due in just a couple of minutes so I used a route
and type of bus I had never used before. A small tin box with a single door at the front.
As it approached my chosen stop I moved forward and stood near the door
while taking care to “hold on to the handrail while the bus is moving”. The
family vehicle safety expert keeps me well informed about the number of people
killed and injured each week by London buses.
When the bus stopped its door swung open, hit me hard on the forehead and ran
over my left foot and trapped it such that I couldn’t get it away. The driver
had to open it again and slightly open his cab to make sure I was OK. I can
still slightly feel the brusing on my foot a few days later.
The family bus expert says I really should report it to TfL as they are very
interested in the cause of their not very good accident statistics.
The B14 might be a cheap and cheerful bus but it is a step up from the Dartford
to Gravesend Fastrack bus. Now that really was a tin rattle box and I read
somewhere that they were withdrawn from service a couple of weeks ago. Those
buses took off with the doors still open which I am pretty sure is not possible
on a TfL bus. It was such an uncomfortable journey that the gang spent £6 each
on a train back to Dartford to make sure our remaining teeth were not rattled out.
I had not been to Gravesend for several years. On a dark and grey day it looked
the most run down, closed down almost deserted hell hole you might see south of
Rotherham.
The old Fort was interesting though.