70s night! Rock Sizemore, DJ, is long and lean, with legs like Rob Evans’ – but encased in brown crimplene flares. Rock’s hair is also pretty super-model: almost white blonde, to the collar, wavy; and with a zapata mussie to match. As you’d expect, his shirt does not let the rest of his outfit down and we’re not even attempting a description here, without the benefit of psychoactive drugs. We’re on the
‘Sold! ‘Sold! ‘Sold!’ boasts the window in an exhausting hyperbole of celebration. Plenty of bungalows, just as we suspected there would be. But town houses too. And – look! – some smart contemporary flats designed for urban commuter living (if you’re unlucky enough to be a South-eastern rail customer). Or perhaps they’re intended as cool cutting-edge residence for co-working start-up entrepreneurs who don’t need – or want – to confuse
Some days, cycling up this hill is desperately difficult, but in today’s morning sunshine – not yet vicious – the air feels thin and pliable, parting to let me move through it. The thought of the next corner pulls me on as much as does my appointment – strict timing, no latecomers allowed – at a gym class at Splashpoint. My pedals slow and I let out an anticipatory snorty-laugh