Boris, where are the BBQs?
Just a small note, the parks in London don’t have large communal BBQs like we have in Australia.
I miss them.
They should get them here, the locals would love them.
People just rocking up to their local park with a frisbee, a football, and lots of raw meat.
As if Londoners wouldn’t love that.
Boris Johnson, are you listening?
Topless Old White Men in the Park
I know you are turned on right now.
Who wouldn’t be?
I have just come back from Kennington Park.
The park was full of old wrinkly fellas, tops off, beige shorts on, sun bathing.
They were an eccentric bunch, man boobs on some, rib bones on others, although all were silver foxes, only one baldy.
The sun was blazing, but nothing was as bright as these fellas.
My skin is usually about as pale as you can get without actually being an albino, but these guys made look tanned.
It was as if someone had rung a bell, and told all the old fellas it was sunbathing time.
And they were all oddly near each other as well.
It might have been a cult.
Today was the first time I have ever been through Kennington Park without seeing a squirrel, say what you want about the homicidal little fuckers, but they know when to hide.
There were also young lady sunbathers, not many, as the sight of all those men sunbathing might have made their skin crawl.
I was oddly drawn to the old men though.
The park was packed in general, skanky buskers, who all had instruments but weren’t playing.
Kids and mummies running wild.
Art students trying to look hip by studying in a park.
It was such a bustling day in the park that I may not visit it anymore.
Usually I am one of few, and every single one of them has a top on.
I don’t want to share my park with old grey geldings.
Pimm’s in the park
Up until now I thought the most English thing I had done was attend a champagne and piano night.
That was pretty English.
But recently I think I went more English, when I had Pimm’s in the park.
It wasn’t really a park, that would be more Australian, it was a gravel pit surrounded by very expensive houses with Tory slogans out the front.
The gravel was important though, as it meant people could play petanque, or as we call it in Australia.
It is like a working class version of lawn bowls.
So here I am in this expensive area of london, surrounded by tory houses, watching others play petanque (also known as boules) sipping on a whisky and coke, when I am offered Pimms.
Now I know of Pimm’s, as it is an incredibly over priced drink at the cricket that people generally ignore, and because I have seen this ad.
But I had never had it.
After my whiskey was up I had a glass of Pimm’s, of which we had a jug of.
And fuck me if it wasn’t really fucken nice.
I would never have thought I would have liked it, but sitting there in the gravel pit, surrounded by old money and watching people play a wankily named french game, I enjoyed my Gin drink.
So much so that I have promised to purchase a petanque kit so we can all go down to the gravel pit and play the game whilst drinking the Pimm’s.
We obviously spent most of our time sitting around laughing at the other players, sipping at our Pimm’s and feeling superior, but I assume that is proper English behaviour.
I couldn’t help thinking my life had changed though, only 3 years ago I was drinking Calrton Cold (shit aussie beer) at 10am in the carpark of a hotel in Footscray.
No Petanque was played there.
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