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Hyde Park is one of London’s miracles. Acres of green grass and trees and immigrant parakeets that masquerade as parrots and will perch on your head to eat slices of apple from your hand. The Serpentine is a placid lake for model boats and gazing at and, in general, people who don’t want to go anywhere near the chop of the Thames any time in the foreseeable future. Yes, there’s rich bastards, but they get out of our way. There’s working-class families taking their children out for a last excursion before school begins and young lovers bravely holding each other’s hands.
It’s a wholesome world that we don’t get to visit very often.
The clouds threaten rain, but the showers won’t last long. I hold Deke’s arm, smile at children, and treat my love to an ice cream cone from the Rolls-Royc
