Sunshine in London

I have had an excellent weekend, arriving in London in time for its mini heat wave and long bank holiday! I got to lie in Battersea Park and enjoy the weather, though the incessant noise of gurgled screams of kids did drive me a bit mental. Kids don’t really like parks, adults like parks, kids don’t like sitting on a blanket and staring at a bee for ages. They arrive in a park and suddenly require a selection of cold treats, a bug free seat, a three wheeled cart that you lie down and peddle and possibly a magician to keep them entertained as you try to read an article in the Sunday Times about how Princess Diana would love the upcoming wedding and would probably outshine the bride and Carole Middleton. I need some shit Royal gossip written badly I don’t need someone else’s whiney child irritating the wasps into a bad mood near me. I had served my time with a kid in the park; Ashley was duly dragged to picnic blanket hell many times in her childhood and spent hours poking a Rhododendron with a stick for fun as I devoured the latest pile of pretend lies from Jeffery Archer.

People need to know babies who sleep a lot like the park, babies who are learning to walk like the park but every other child from two upwards to twelve hate the park unless dogs get into a bloody foaming mouth fight, and that’s something they can stare at. It’s a boring hot sticky toilet deprived place is the park in the blistering heat...and yet adults don’t get that. In their mind they will drag some chairs, some food and a wine cooler and they can enjoy the summer haze. Not if you have kids, then it will be hell for you and people sitting near.

So, I moved far away from the annoying people but still managed to meet a stupid twat of a woman whose dog’s slabbered and leapt all over me, which meant she and her friends now had the right to ask me questions. I think it’s called socialising but it felt like interrogation ...with dogs. “Do you live round hear?” the tall lady in the elasticated jungle print maxi dress drawled at me. Her accent was one that Katie Middleton’s mum was hoping to attain- she was old money and very posh (I knew this as she had on odd sandals and it wasn’t irony).

I chatted to her and her pony trekking horse faced friends for a few minutes, I told them I was staying with my mate and then I told them I was a comedian. The circle of chinless Oxbridge bedwetters went silent, their crystal decanter and tall glasses were sending twinkling shards of light like a glitter ball all over the grass. Who brings a decanter to a park? Alcoholic rich people that’s who. The woman in odd sandals leaned her head to the side and her eyes became flinty, like she was trying to understand what a female comedian was, then she stepped forward and the bottom of her strapless elastic maxi dress was trapped beneath a dogs ass and her bra-less left tit slapped out and just hung there- nobody said anything. Maybe if you are rich enough to own a decanter and take it to a public park, you can have a tit hanging out and that’s ok. It was a saggy limp tit, like a small bag of cold porridge or one of those balloons that have slowly deflated behind a chair, days after a birthday party.

Am not saying my tits are awesome but they are huge and well firm, and I don’t let one flop out in full public view. Anyway the woman hadn’t noticed her tit was hanging out, her friends said nothing, nobody giggled or came to her rescue and so I continued the conversation. “Is being a comedian actually a job?” tit flap asked me and a few of the men and women smiled and sniggered at this. “I mean how does one become funny? Do women actually get a laugh?” she continued.

I stared at them, I bent down stroked a dog, I looked up and stared at her flabby tit hanging out of her sundress and I said “Your tit is hanging out of your dress and that makes me laugh and I am going to tell heaps of people about this, so trust me yes, women do get a laugh”

I don’t think it bothered her, rich people can take sherry to the park in crystal, they can wear odd sandals and let a tit hang out, but they can’t wind me up, I just accepted everyone is weird in their own way. I would be mortified if my tit came out in public, but wasn’t, she just folded it back into her frock and kicked a dog off her skirt. Life in the park is like that.