I’ve still got a lot of posts left from my two weeks in London visiting my boyfriend. Here comes the Sunday after this barbecue night:
Sunday didn’t at all feel anything like a sunday. It felt like one of those summer holiday vacuums where one knows of nothing but hot roads and open windows. Daniel texted our friends who were all busy frying eggs to make plans to meet up in the park.
At 1pm we picked Jimmy up on Mare Street and swung by Raw Duck to get this years first iced coffee. The staff looked stunned by my request, as if I had uttered Voldemorts name and would call upon evil and John Snow to turn up saying “Winter is coming”. But a lot of money later I had my cool caffeinated liquid and skipping in front of a whole trail of Hare Krishnas we could enter London Fields.
The cherry trees sprinkled its blossoms all over the dirty youths that occupied the park.
My friends, among others, dressed for summer in black hoodies and hangovers.
Twelve of us, mostly Canadians, lay on blankets in the grass, munching on coconut coated peanuts and sweets that some promoter threw at us in exchange of a fake promise to attend some lame gig. The sun wandered along my tights and up my skirt, all around my neck and sizzled my skin where it lay bare. With ever ten minutes of sun came a strong whiff of winter and as one should in spring times I kept on taking my denim jacket on and off and on again.
The speakers played smooth summer music that lets the mind wander. All around my friends are discussing the leaking of four Game of Thrones episodes, why never to live with boys and who they could marry when their visas run out. I’ve already volunteered for my girlfriends, as long as I get to wear a naughty dress and walk down the isle in Hackney Town Hall. Imagine the cute wedding photos! And the reception! I lie laughing with my eyes closed as the plans grow huge.
Hours pass unnoticed. The only way to measure time is on the burn on our cheeks. By 5pm it’s noticeably bad so we collect our stuff and look up somewhere the twelve of us can find dinner.
I don’t know why we even bother pretending to look for a different place because we always end up going for Vietnamese. This time is no different and we end up in an empty room decorated with bamboo sticks and fake flowers where the staff would’ve preferred not to serve people at all. The bowls of pho and glass noodles arrive and we are loud and rowdy and our cheeks scolding red. In the window we see a huge rat run past and Daniel once again brings up the phenomena with the King Rat with its entangled tails. The way his eyes lights up when he describes really vile subjects is intimidating but also kind of hot haha.
The wind has taken its toll and I feel absolutely beat. After coffees at some bar we say bye to our friends and walk in dusk back to Clapton, my legs prickling up in the breeze. Prespring evenings are pretty lovely after all. Because then it’s still cold enough to lay under the duvet.