MY SENSE of direction has never been very good (Thank God for the mini A-Z version and the ‘streetmap’ website!), so getting lost this weekend came as no surprise…
It’s Saturday and my friend Alex is celebrating her birthday in Wandsworth Park, where she has organised a picnic.
I haven’t decided what gift to get her, so I head down to High Street Kensington early and shop around en route: there must be something she will like! But I soon realise that buying a gift for a girl who has everything isn’t easy.
I have been to several clothes shops looking for accessories, perfume counters in department stores and finally end up in Waterstones’ book shop where I browse around for inspiration. I remember she told me that she hadn’t read The Alchemist, so I decide to buy her that timeless classic.
It’s now nearly one o’clock. I head for Marks and Spencer’s to buy some food: strawberries, dips, olives and some mini-quiches, which look like they were made for a teddy bears’ picnic! At the till they have some flowers – among which I notice some irresistible peonies – so I get her a bunch too. After all, you can never have enough flowers!
I leave the store and walk down to the Tube and, I as wait for the train, an announcement is made telling me to remember to drink plenty of water in this weather. It’s really not that hot today, but still, I get myself a bottle of water. Finally my train arrives and I follow Alex’s directions: ‘Once you get to Putney Bridge, turn left and go under the bridge, walk straight ahead and you can’t miss us’ she had explained.
So I do just that but 15 minutes later I am still walking and decide to ask a cab driver who is parked on the side how far from Wandsworth Park I am. He laughs and directs me back to where I started, from where I call Alex and ask her to talk me through the route.
Finally I arrive at the park and join the gang. Alex and her friends area sitting by the edge of the river, which is reflecting the afternoon sun. Several blankets are out on the grass and I join the group of children and grown-ups who are sitting down enjoying the day. I add my food to the main blanket and Alex introduces me to her friends.
I notice that there are several Scotch egg containers which nobody has touched. “What’s with the Scotch eggs?” I ask. Alex laughs and tells me that everyone seemed to bring some along so that the supply was huge. “Nobody even likes them!” she laughs, “And anyway, who invented a Scotch egg?”
Darren, who is Scottish, tells us that as far as he knows it has nothing to do with them and that he doesn’t like them either. We’re still laughing when we notice that a game of cricket is beginning right behind our patch, so we move away in search of another sunny spot. In fact, we do this several times during the next few hours until we give in to the cool weather and decide to go back to Alex’s house, just on the other side of the river.
We cross over the bridge to her flat and continue our party in her small garden using the blankets to keep warm –which takes me back to my camping days! Music is played and toasts are made and before the last tube is due to leave I say my goodbyes.
As I get on the train back home I realise I have a text message from my football buddy Hud, which reads: ‘Where do you want to watch the final? Bar Italia or my mate’s mum’s who is cooking pasta?’
As long as she’s not cooking Scotch eggs I think to myself and reply: ‘Let’s discuss in the morning over French bread’.
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