If this is still spring, it is one that is thickening into a rich summer texture very fast. Hard to distinguish between the two seasons, really, with the warm days we are having. This park sits in a part of fashionable, hip north London and it is in full election mode, rampant with pro-Corbyn posters, restless with the sort of impromptu psephological chat I first came across 20 years ago on the eve of Blair’s ascension to power.
sun-seekers form a long and wide human blanket that alternates with nature’s green
carpet. I cycle down the path towards the south exit. Along the way I am exposed
to blue tooth-powered sound systems blaring out Turkish pop, reggae and
mainstream, drivetime American rock. The sunshine swells over the crowds and
the fields, providing sunbathers with yet another excuse to peel off another
layer of clothing and slap the sun cream on. I am suddenly reminded of Clifford
Dyment’s poem, The People:
Thousands and thousands of you there are/entered up
by a registrar/sorted, and checked, and written on forms/ready for taxes and
To me you have no name or place/but only a brief or
casual face/I see you with impersonal eyes/as a flux of furs and various ties.
I see you thus, and yet you go/about my body, to and
fro/treading the pavement of my mind/goes the procession of mankind.
Next Post: “One-Minute
Cycle Diaries”, to be published on Saturday 17th June at 6pm