Getting lost & fried chicken.
Which has been 3 times this week. It's all because of the most confusing, scariest roundabout in London. I'm coming from Kennington Park Road and I hit Elephant & Castle, (which is a hole by the way) and that's were it all goes a bit pear shaped. I'm not sure if its the buses, the merging traffic, fast motorbikes, or the sheer amount of lanes and roads off it that totally fucks me every time.
The first day I ended up heading to Waterloo Station, spotted the London Eye and then realised that I was totally going in the wrong way. I quickly cut across and found Southwark Station, which is my little marker, to know I'm on the right way to my way across the river, which is Blackfriars Bridge, on the way to my work in Clerkenwell.
The second day I went down Southwark Bridge Road, thinking I'd find my little marker, but alas I couldn't. So I cut across and found my marker. Found Blackfriars Bridge, and home free again.
Today I went down King William St, somehow mistook Borough Station for Southwark, cut across, thinking I was taking the same road as yesterday and ended up going across the Southwark Bridge. Fuck me, if that didn't totally screw me up. I turned and the next thing, I'm on my way to London Bridge. Wrong. Turned back, and then somehow ended at St Paul's. I knew I was kind of going in a semi right direction. Then I ended up at St. Barts hospital. I then spied the Barbican Towers. (Thank fuck for landmarks!), and weaved my way towards them. I saw the meat markets, and knew my way to work from there.
The most ironic thing, is that all these diversions, and I still wasn't late. It's great, I'm feeling myself getting healthy and I've got a spring in my step, and not looking like a old sweaty dog, huffing and about to keel over. Which, believe me is not the sexiest look out there.
However there is a couple of little thorns in my side to becoming healthy. Namely booze and fried chicken drumsticks. They seem to go hand in hand. One drink at the boozer sometimes, well usually all times turns into maybe 5, depending on the night. Monday to Wednesday, 5 is usually tops. The other days are well... let's not go there today. God help me, if my local started to sell Magners Cider. I'd just check myself into rehab on the spot.
Anyway between my local and my road is the evil Pizza Ring. To be fair, the thin crust pizza isn't too bad, but the trans fatty temptations that lurk behind the counter. The mountain of golden crumbed, fried white meat wrapped around a carcass. You know you love it. Dirty chicken.
Lately, I can't seem to pass it up. It's terrible. The most utterly amazing fact of this strange compulsion, is that I don't even eat chicken! I pretty much just eat seafood, and avoid most meat. I might eat some types of meat again one day, but I'll never eat pork. Even though pork is mighty tasty, pigs don't sweat, and have massive tumors cut out of them because of this. Pig fat also, is so close to human fat, it binds straight away to your fat, and never comes out. Oh and cannibals call human meat, long pig. Ewwwwww. Whoops I'm off on one again. Eating deep fried drumsticks at midnight, pretty much undos all the hard work I'm trying to do by riding my bike to work. It's retarded. It's like a cheap smack addiction. I have to stop it! I want the lo-fat healthy version of Reilly, that I knew so well in my 20's, and all side orders of lassies that seemed to came along with that. Which is basically the whole underlying reason behind this mad health kick. So from now on, I'm going to try and curb my booze (a little) during the week, and run like the clappers home, and not get lassoed by the Pizza RIng at the top of my road.
Pray for me people, I need all the help I can get.