an idiot in london


Sunday, 16th April.
Come out swinging

I'm determined to minimise my couch time. I slept in (first time since I'd been at university) and was facing the prospect of an afternoon in front of the TV watching Leeds vs Arsenal. I cajoled Jules and Simon into doing something..."How about Richmond Park?" suggested Simon. Richmond Park it would be, then.

Richmond Park is a huge park in London. There are deer running around (like the Longford Wildlife Park!) and there are a few playing fields as well. The area is frightfully well-to-do, there are real houses there! (You know, houses, separate buildings on their own block of land, not sharing a wall with another property.)

We had loaded up the Mardi Gras with a couple of sets of golf clubs, and we were off to the driving range. I frightened the golfers on the first hole a few times (they can build those nets as high as they like, I will still find a way around them) and then Jules and I settled in for a competition to see who could hit the bloody great target 150 yards up the hill that was the driving range. I came a creditable second.

After a menacing display at the driving range, we adjourned to the practice green to do some chipping. Frightening.

But the fun didn't stop there. A quick session at the 19th hole followed, and then we were off for a cruise around the park. As you'd expect on a Sunday afternoon, there were people everywhere, in cars, on bikes, on foot. Driving up a hill, we were about to overtake a cyclist when Jules had a thought. "Pull up next to him, we'll tell him how fast he's going!"

Simon obliged, and as we came alongside the solid-looking cyclist Jules rolled down the window, checked the speedo, and yelled "TWENTY-ONE MILES PER HOUR!"

"YOU'RE JOKING!" the cyclist bellowed.

For the rest of the afternoon that was all we said. "TWENTY-ONE MILES PER HOUR!" "YOU'RE JOKING!"