06 June 2009
cider and roses
I had to meet someone in Hyde Park yesterday. It's not my favourite park. It's big and I can never get my bearings. Trying to find the building I was looking for and puzzled by the criss-crossing paths, I felt like I was out on the Steppes waiting for some apocalyptic horsemen to come and find me. I'd already been waylaid by the the Rose Garden. Roses aren't a favourite either. But the enclosed space and the sheer volume of flowers harboured the most wonderful scent. I was standing there like a fool breathing it all in (did I have time to take a snap, no! too late already) and a man with a brolly came towards me. "Isn't the scent wonderful?" I said, hoping this would make me look less like a loony. "Mmm" replied Bill Nighy. Not love actually.
I eventually found my quarry. Tried to head back to Victoria, ended up at the wrong end of the park (this with a map, too). An eye test, dilated eyeballs, a taxi ride to meet a friend (extravagance the result of great tardiness and fuzzy eyesight), a sprint through Tate Britain, and then my reward.
Sheeps Nose, Yarlington Mill, Brown Snout and Foxwhelp. Cider and Poetry. Almost love, actually.