Spent a bit of time this week driving around the unfamiliar land of South London. Sometimes aided and frequently hampered by the presence of a TomTom shouting skewed directions about bearing left and advising illegal manoeuvres and the avoidance of invisible speed cameras.
Driving in London is a considerable challenge these days due to the need to skip in and out of lanes as you come round a corner and somehow find yourself in a bus lane, risking a massive fine or castration or both.
Ah well, we have the Mayor to thank for that and of course now is the time to pick the new one. This is no easy choice given on the one hand we have Red Ken, two terms in and half mad on government subsidies and low congestion policies in the one corner and on the other, wearing a blue handkerchief on his head, Boris the buffoon, capering about like a cat with rabies.
Paddick may still be hovering somewhere about the fringes. I canâ€™t remember and although I have a soft spot for the chap due to his role in the ill-fated Lambeth experiment, somehow I donâ€™t see myself voting for him. No, I feel a spoiled ballot coming on.
The chance to do this has come from the Conservatives. For reasons unknown to myself I seem to have managed to get removed from the electoral roll, but fortunately the beady eyed researchers at Tory HQ have observed this and sent me all of the required forms to remedy the problem. The only flaw in their plan is of course that I wonâ€™t be voting Conservative.
Anyway, all that was the last thing on my mind as I bopped about London in the Clio, a week past its MOT and making ominous noises as I drove around corners. Quick heel toe movements and remembering to push down hard on the brakes when the traffic moves again from 2nd to 1st gear. Staying safe and avoiding having to explain to some angry Camberwell resident that you crashed into the side of their vehicle because you were shouting about the Olympics and failing to realise that your wheels had fallen off.
Still, as a wise man once said, it is not the destination that is important it is the journey and indeed, this was important wisdom for me to consider on Saturday as I reached my destination, Eltham palace. It was important because Eltham Palace, previously unbeknownst to me was mysteriously closed on a Saturday and all I had to show for my trip was an empty Salmon sandwich box, cramp in my left foot, and of course, the inevitably journey back again.