Mendoza

Wine wine wine.

The town of Mendoza is basically wine capital of Argentina.

Whilst here:

We ate the steak of our lives. Fatter than my bicep.

Andy thought he had tonsillitus. It turned out to be a mouth ulcer.

We cycled round some of the most immense bodegas (vineyards) tasting and loving the fruits of Argentina in the sun.

The malbec was so smooth it was like drinking a doormouse (says Andy).

Andy´s handlebars came off.

We swam in some hot springs in the mountains.

And ate one too many empanadas.

Tramp Party

So, smelling my way to work - from the overflowing drain in the yard past the bacon sarnies of the factory workers opposite, through the Olympic stadium where they are seemingly building the foundations with manure and onto the stinking canal, I smell the party before I see it.

Now, one of the benches along the Union Canal has been inhabited by two tramps for a while. Every morning I pass them, worried about waking them up with my bell as I alert the other cyclists to my presence in the tunnel. They hunch, coats zipped tightly over heads, sleeping upright - or more probably not sleeping upright. I wonder about the feeling they have when their situation dawns on them. When they stop dreaming and realise they are outside on a bench in North London.

Anyway, yesterday as I rode home there were three of them. All awake and drinking - seemingly in high spirits.

This morning, there were about seven, all smokes and jokes in the orange light. Safety in numbers.