Afternoon:
14°c
THE SKY is a crisp blue, the cherry trees are in blossom and a spring of renewal beckons after a black winter. It is also the time when London's parks, at last, come into their own.
The parks are pretty much the only bits of London uncovered by Google's amazing new Street View facility, but clicking around their fringes reveals how blessed we are with greenery. Manhattan's parkland (they have Street View too) is confined to the sculptured strangeness of Central Park - but we have tons of them. I am fortunate to work within easy reach of both Holland Park and Kensington Gardens, and it is increasingly hard to resist their call.
My wife happened to be working in the area last week, and snatching 20 minutes to share some M&S sandwiches on a bench near Kensington Palace one lunchtime, we were able to take a survey of west London at leisure - perambulating au pairs, stupidly fashionable Japanese tourists, students playing keepy-uppy with a tennis ball.
But our attention fell on to a patient coach trying to instil a game of football into some squealing seven-year-olds. "Man U, Liverpool, Chelsea Arsenal," I said, clocking the children's replica kits. "Sad what a hold the big four have on the youth of today."
"None of them wearing Spurs kit?" wondered my wife, ever alert for an opportunity to mock my allegiance.
"Well, there's him " I said, suddenly noticing a sickly-looking boy in white, well away from the action, running around in circles.
The game began, and though each team employed the rudimentary honeypot formation (as in bees-round-the), it proved an absorbing contest. The first goal was scored by a girl, much to the chagrin of the Chelsea boy. The Arsenal lad's thin veneer of finesse soon wore off to reveal a sulky and uncouth individual. The Tottenham boy simply idled around the goalmouth and, presented with a gilt-edged opportunity to score, fell on his face - evidently he had been studying Darren Bent. "I could have scored that," said my wife.
West London's parks are pleasant enough, but for the true panorama of London life, east is best. Any film-maker with a sentimentally liberal bent looking for a happy picture of multicultural London should head to Clissold Park on the Stoke Newington-Highbury border. It is the great local leveller, common ground. I have entered massive, spontaneous games of football here, but at the weekend sitting was the favoured sport, and from the bench, with a cup of park tea (60p!) it was impossible not to be cheered by London's social diversity.
Perhaps it is just the sitting that I like, though. For some reason, right by the bus stop where I begin my daily commute, someone has discarded four rickety wicker chairs. This morning, I pulled one into the sun and sat there for the 15 minutes it took the 106 to heave into view. Not since the great "snow event" have I seen so many people smiling.
