Golden Heath

Hats off to Hampstead Heath for yet again providing me with a golden, magical day.

It was Philippa's idea. She organised for a few of us including Rob Rackstraw, Rob's Fiona and Pikka to meet by the bandstand, and so we sat chatting, playing games with the kids, plaiting hair, eating, drinking and listening to a covers band for the entire afternoon. 

There's little else to say. Lazy days on the Heath are never filled with intrigue and activity. People loll about. Some climb trees. Some play with frisbees. Most are content simply to be, and we fell into that category.

At the end of the day, as the sun started to melt behind Hampstead village church, we walked to the top of Parliament Hill and stared down at a slightly hazy London. I worried slightly that we were looking at low lying clouds of pollution. Brother Edward's world of Canary Wharf was partially masked by an exhaust-coloured mist and places further south, like Crystal Palace, were entirely obscured. Perhaps it was simply a dusty summer evening drawing in. 

I've just come home to make some pasta and found a melted pepper and half a punnet of mouldy grapes in our fruit bowl. Devastatingly ghastly. The grapes were covered in fruit flies and I entered the pepper as I picked it up. There was a strange liquid residue. We've saved what we can and thrown the rest into a bin bag which we've already thrown onto the street. 

That'll be a nasty surprise for the little old man who spends his life rifling through the bins of Highgate. I guess he'll have seen much worse. Seeing Philippa changing her daughter's nappy this afternoon made me realise how lily-liveried I am when it comes to squelch and gore!