Iestyn Edwards is...what?

                                                         Bertram Nicholls 'Lambeth Bridge' 1949 Dressed in a woollen blue coat fastened with nappy pins and stained down the front with tinned ravioli. A straw bonnet during the summer, the top of a sawn-off kettle in winter. Support tights, no knickers, one blue shoe, one brown welly. Speckled with sticking plasters. This was Lill, in her early seventies, I imagine, going back and forth over Lambeth Bridge all day, day in, day out, pushing a supermarket trolley filled with china ornaments wrapped in newspaper, curtains with the hooks half off and a display halibut late of the fish shop in The Cut.  On his way to work at Myer's Beds each day Big Sid, who lived round the balcony from my family, took her a flask of tea. He collected the empty flask from her on his way home each evening, saying,...

The people on this side of the demised lane won't talk to the people on the other.  The story being that Tim, the previous owner of Blaine’s house, over on the other side, had put in a planning application to build sixty-two houses on the land between his back garden and Tesco Metro. Objections were strident, planning permission was denied, Tim in high dudgeon sold Eight Magpies to Blaine and moved away. Quite far. Suki, from this side, added, ‘Decrepit old George and Venetia, who were already living on the land behind Tim's house - so would presumably have been most impacted – to this day won’t speak to either mummy or the Bodings.’ 'But why?' I asked.  'Because of the objections to the planning permission.' 'But the planning permission was denied,' I said. 'Tim - developer - moved away. Blaine bought his house.' 'Exactly.’ Oh. Blaine himself told me, 'Actually, while all this with the planning permission was just getting a bit warm, at ...

A hiker stayed over in the hotel last night. He was from Bristol, late twenties, bearded, stocky in an olive green ribbed sweater and matching nylon trousers. He's on for thirty-five kilometres today.  He asked the breakfast room at large if anyone minded if he filled his water bottle from the jug - nobody did - meanwhile agreeing with me, 'No, there's not much to Bognor Regis, all said and done.' He also didn't think there was much to my friend, Pippa, who, on a walking holiday with her sister, got fed up with the walking part by the first morning, whining about how she just couldn't, she couldn't.  'Sarah would walk to the next B and B, getting through twenty miles or so a day,' I said, 'and - even in the wilds, middle of nowheresville - Pippa would somehow manage to arrive there by evening in a taxi. This was pre-Uber.' Hiker man looked disapproving. 'Bet she didn't sleep as well as he sister at night, though.'  Oh... #walking ...

I've just twigged about the lack of sound insulation in this once luxury, now faded to budget, hotel. (And in similar places.) 1) There would have been no motor vehicles in the 1820s, so no need to install triple glazing here in the Steyne when it was new.  2) Back then no sound-proofing would have been necessary between the rooms because the kind of loud, trashy person who came for this Valentine's weekend special* would have been far too poor to stay here. There. History and Science for your Sunday.  *At 7.20 am the woman in 337, for one example, was having riotous, multiple orgasms, all by herself; moaning in a Midlands accent.  #valentine #valentines #valentinesday #valentinesweekend 

'What a creaky lift that was. But, let's remember, the hotel is originally ever so old.' As she pushed the buggy down the hotel corridor, the woman reassured her toddler. 'But it does look cute.' Not sounding as though she really believed herself. 'Oh, we go this way. There will be lots of people here this weekend, with the date. We mustn't forget our exercises, so we can have ourselves a bit of a cheat-treat.' From her build and the sportswear, I assumed the woman was a PT. 'You'll enjoy yourself. Ooh, brace yourself, Rico, a bit of manoeuvring...' She turned at the end of the corridor.  Rico wasn't a toddler.  It was a pug.  In its buggy.  'This is Rico. I'm Jill. He's a rescue pug. Fawn.' 'Iestyn. Variety turn. Sitting in the hotel lobby, like Miss Marple, watching the comings and goings.' 'I'm a peripatetic masseuse for top sports teams.'  I felt there was a dichotomy between Jill's physical imp...

In Tesco's deli section a kid was shrieking. Ermina, at the till, said it was because the parents overfed it.  ‘Children never hear “No”, these days, and they get very screechy in here,' she clarified.  Ermina, coming from a Seychelles shanty town, had never had supermarkets full stop. ‘Stalls by the side of the road at best. But feeling gratitude for anything and everything is the Lord’s blessing on us. It is most certainly not on the way, this child’s attitude, to being the person who first thing Sunday in Sunday out gives up their time unquestioningly and with no need of thanks to sweep the church steps.’ I asked Ermina, was she talking about herself? I could see her with a triumphal, praising, blessed sweep parting the dust like God did the Red Sea.  She said, ‘No, not me. I still have things I can do with my Sundays, thanks be to God. I go swimming in Brockley, have an ice cream. Sometimes going overground to Clapham Common to see what the trees are up to. It’s Betti...

I've walked out of an Airbnb. I tried, I really tried. To put up with being there. On and off for eleven days. I don't know why.  Well, I do. Trying to make things work, fearing reprisals, not sticking up for myself.  The Hosts and I are now in dispute, with Airbnb as referee.  (In the Are you f-ing blind or what, ref? sense.) To kick off (no football pun intended) the agent told me, 'I can't pass on your comments. That would count as personal advice.'  So, I passed them on myself: 'Robin, I have some reality checks for you on your listing.' It is in a luxurious block and has just been fully renovated to a high end before being listed.  'The block is not luxurious, it's basic.' [Even the block's management company laughed at the descriptor luxurious .] 'Stained, damp smelling industrial carpet, faded, scuffed and spotted magnolia paint. Throughout the flat itself are botched paint and plaster touch-ups.' The space comprises a one-bedr...