Saturday morning and it was fair to say I wasn't tip top for some entirely unfathomable reason!
Fortunately, there was an online relaxation/meditation session with my friend Lou, something she initiated when Covid started and has been most welcome then and since. I felt better after - it is quite possible I nodded off at some point.
There was just one thing to do before the evenings' event, procure some groceries from the Sainsbury's at the far end of the Crystal Palace triangle. You see rather than pack the fridge full of my batch cooking I had decided to use the little slow pot and cook a few meals up in the van from the supplied recipe leaflet.
The walk and fresh(er) air did me good and, once back had a quick lunch before settling down for a read and a nap. It was a lovely day; the sun was streaming in, and the book soon fell to the floor.
Soon it was time to get ready for the evening - Hallowed Peak at the Phantom Peak experience in Canada Water. Dressing up was encouraged - like I need any encouragement - but there was an addition to my look that was going to take some time - sclera lenses. I had two trial runs with them prior and it was an hour by the time I got both lenses in.
An early meal of a quick nuked curry followed then it was time to go for the bus, down the hill by the side of the park to Sydenham station. For the first time in a long while I was feeling a tad self-conscious - dressing as I often do does take a bit of confidence and 'front,’ but the sclera lenses were another level. It was warm and I had decided not to complete my outfit before arriving at the venue.
Anyway, there was a short wait for the Overground train service up to Canada Water, then once I had got my bearings, a 15-minute walk to the venue itself, my Cuban heeled Winklepickers already making their presence felt. Honestly, I'll never learn - vanity before agony!
It was a 15-minute walk - or hobble - to the venue and it was clear from the attire of a few around that they were going to the same place. It was nice to see others making the effort.
The venue itself was ‘Phantom Peak’ occupying, it seemed some vacant land on an industrial estate. It had, they said, been given a spooky makeover for Halloween.
There was a welcome from a suitably garbed actor and we were encouraged to log on to an app on which we would be given trails to follow, clues to find and mysteries to uncover from the various interactive displays as well as more actors in the various shops, outlets, bars and er, undertakers.
I decided early on not to do this but instead just to walk around soaking up the atmosphere. I got several compliments on my attire and even had a couple of photos taken. A young man, one of the actors, saw me approaching and said "wow you look hot!" Ooh, I thought, until he added " still I suppose taking the coat off would lessen the visual impact". Oh well....
The maze - a criss cross of bungy ropes - was challenging, particularly after I had visited the bar for a large red - there being no real ale on offer.
There were plenty of places to eat and drink, some side shows and apparently later on, some live music and prize giving. I could have spent the whole five hours there but came away early, the effects of the previous night starting to tell. The aforementioned large red had eased my aching feet only partially, and the sclera's were getting uncomfortable. It was very warm in there too, or at least felt like it under the layers of real and fake dead cow and latex.
I contemplated a pint after getting off the train at Sydenham, but the nearby pub did not look appealing, particularly attired as I was, so limped over to the bus stop and was shortly back in cosy old Patsy where the sclera's were swiftly removed and for once I was glad to be back in my old joggers and a t-shirt. Wonder if I was sickening for something!
Over a beer I reviewed the evening. For what I did the £45 wasn't cheap but I was fully aware I didn't make the most of it so have no complaints. It was something different that would have been better enjoyed with company.
I do like a bowl of porridge occasionally, particularly this time of year, however my experience of late has been limited to those instant pots where you only add boiling water, eaten at work, normally in the minibus. Satisfying they aren't but are better than nothing and are arguably reasonably healthy.
Bear with, I'm getting to the point, honest!
I had read online that porridge done in the slow pot is really tasty so before I hit the sack, bunged in the usual ingredients, and switched the pot on to Low.
Once in bed I had half an hour with Agatha - Christie in case you were wondering - more accurately the latest biography on the crime writer that I'd been given for my birthday - a first edition too no less. By the time I'd put the light out the porridge was smelling very nice indeed.
The promised rain arrived sometime during the night and, unlike many I don't find the sound of rain on the caravan roof soothing, merely annoying if I'm trying to watch the telly or in this case, sleep.
I made a cuppa and went to inspect the porridge in anticipation. Oh dear. There was a half inch thick skin on top that a hammer and chisel would have struggled with. Eventually, having carved my way through it, it became apparent that there was very little left that looked remotely edible, the sides of the pot being similarly caked. I tipped away what I could, filled it with water and fairy liquid and went back to bed with a cuppa and a bit more Agatha.
There was very little else to report on Sunday. It rained for most of the day, aside from a sunny gap early afternoon when I used an excuse of needing some greens for dinner to enjoy a pint outside at the Westow House pub, at the corner of the triangle.
The Coq au Vin prepped that morning for the slow pot went down very well indeed and a lazy evening ensued, the most strenuous activity being having to alter the volume on the telly as the rain came and went.
It had been a nice restful day though, much needed as I had a busy few day’s sightseeing coming up.