Weekend at the Parks

Went to Hyde Park yesterday; went for a picnic in Regent's Park today. City is sunbathed; all the boys walk around shirtless; all the girls spray their bodies with water and fix their bikinis. Chocolate cookies, baguettes, bree cheese, malibu mixed with juice inside an old water bottle, two white sheets on the grass and the clouds surfing between the leaves. Children on the paddle boats, joggers, sweat dripping off the human barbeques, tattoos as black as the coffee in the boat house, pigeons drowsily following our whistles, frisbees on the hands of Indian children, sleep with my head on my backpack, The Guardian's book review nestled between my legs.

At home, The Secret Garden on TV. If I was a little girl, I would cry and call it the most perfect movie of all times. Wonder about Anne of Green Gables in the library, suddenly a perfect Summer read. And Saint Etienne's single collection, bought yesterday in a Notting Hill second-hand store, breezes the ironic pop cheese into our rooms - it is perfect for this warm Summer weekend.

My turn to cook dinner tonight: Tomato and lentil soup, salad, more baguettes with butter, cold water from the tap. Then Big Brother, then Truman Capote, then sleep for the swimming pool that awaits me tomorrow morning.