This week we have been given the promise of an imminent Spring.
I’m English so I have trust issues when it comes to the weather. Although this week has been sunny and at times warm, on occasion hot, I won’t start shouting ‘it’s spring!’.
Yet.
Last weekend the sunshine filled Regents Park, if you are a Camden resident and you weren’t there, you’re possibly the only one who wasn’t .
You missed plentiful dogs and kid action.
There was a girl on a bike, the sort without pedals that the tiny rider has to scoot along. Her dad was giving her very detailed instructions, where to go, how fast to go, stop, start, this way, that way. I watched her silently roll her eyes.
When do we learn to roll our eyes? Or is it an automatic response to condescending twats, stupidity and lack of belief, like laughing at things that we find funny or crying when faced with something sad?
Anyway, based on the brief window into her relationship with her dad that I witnessed, I’m hoping she doesn’t do herself damage by virtue of essential excessive use of the roll.
I rolled my eyes recently, at myself, possibly in the direction of GorGus too.
I walk past The Round House more days than not, sometimes twice, sometimes three or four times a day. One evening while walking homeward with GorJus I noticed a man on the roof of the round house. A statue of a man, very obviously an Anthony Gormley statue of a man. Creepy fabulous.
When had it arrived? How had I not noticed? How had G not noticed? I can’t have been walking past it for more than a year, surely not? They must of had some sort of inauguration, a do, how did I miss that?
The celebration would have been twenty years ago, 2005, it’s been there since 2005.
I’m apparently not as observant as I think I am, but on the bright side, now I know it’s there it gives me joy every time I go by.
fat tart 