Heath picnic

Wednesday was utterly blissful. The weather was cooler than it’s been of late, but it was beautifully sunny and really, the perfect day to be wandering about on the heath, which, luckily, is what we were doing...

Nathan and I picked the parents up from Tottenham Hale at 10.30am, and we drove around the North Circ to Hangar Lane for picnic stuff. What would my birthday be without a lengthy trip to a supermarket to spend an inordinate amount of money on an obscene amount of picnic food which even a gannet couldn’t get through?!

Llio met us in Highgate and we jumped in the car and wended our merry way around the top of Hampstead Heath to the car park behind Jack Straw’s Castle. I probably shouldn’t have told people to arrive at “about” noon, or should have chosen a slightly nicer rendezvous location. I ended up playing tennis with Sally and Stuart’s girls on the gravel for at least twenty minutes whilst the stragglers arrived.

After Sally, Stuart and the girls came my oldest school friend Tammy, her husband, Chris and her two children Evie and Oscar, whom I’m ashamed to say I’d not met before. My only defence is that Tammy lives in Modena, Italy. She reminded me at some point yesterday that we’d known each other for thirty three years. I think that might be described as an enduring friendship! Her kids, it turns out, are delightful.

Next to arrive were Hilary and Mezza. Hilary has lost weight and is looking wonderful at the moment, like a sort of glorious Art Deco painting. Mezza always arrives with a gung ho smile and a demeanour which says “let’s eke everything we can out of today,” which is always appreciated.

Bringing up the rear were Brother Edward and Sascha, who, we were told, had got stuck in a lift at Hampstead tube. It must have been terrifying for them. I think it was at Hampstead where the lift once plummeted and a load of old ladies broke their legs. Maybe I’ve made that up.

We went to the pergola first off. That’s the wonderful Victorian, brick-and-wood built, mile-long, plant-bedecked walkway, which sits, inexplicably, on the edge of Golder’s Hill Park, watching over the area where the gay men go cruising at night time. I’ve never understood why the pergola exists. It must have been built as some sort of elaborate promenade for the large Victorian house behind it. Quite how it came into the possession of the Corporation of London, whilst the house remains privately owned, I’ve no idea. The joy about the place is that it’s off the tourist track. If that pergola were in Hyde Park, it would be rammed.

The pergola is best in the spring for a few glorious weeks when it’s covered in amazing wisteria. Actually, at this time of the year, it’s surprisingly bland in terms of flowers and things. It’s nevertheless an extraordinarily magical spot which features in the first film I ever made, Hampstead Heath: The Musical. I’m writing about it, but don’t rush out to watch it. It’s a fairly hopeless film. I had no idea what I was doing!

After the pergola, we headed to the tree with the hole in it. There were a lot of children with us, and I felt this would be the best place to picnic because the kids could have a bit of a climb whilst the adults stuffed their faces! I think we managed to get about six people into the tree at one point. One day I’m going to try and set a world record. Actually, no I’m not. The idea of being trapped like sardines inside the trunk of a tree isn’t worth thinking about.

From the tree with the hole, we went down to the mixed ponds where somewhat draconian rules prevented Tammy from bringing her kids into the compound on account of their being too young, despite not actually wanting to swim. I guess everyone’s a bit sensitive of late. The dry weather has meant the natural ponds on the heath have started to lose alarming amounts of water, and, last Sunday, someone was very badly wounded in the men’s pond by diving and hitting something sharp on the murky bed.

An ambulance was actually called whilst we were there, but no one could work out who was ill or injured.

There was a bit of a mad dash to get back to the cars. The car parks on the heath favour short visits, which I think is ludicrous. It’s expensive enough: something like £8 for 4 hours, but then £6 for every hour thereafter. So we had to put the cars in a different car park to take advantage of a new deal. 

The day ended in a pub at the bottom of Downshire Hill where we had a bit of food and slowly split up, our faces feeing tight from the sun and pond water!