She Loves London

Category: Things You Must Do

Suggestions for London locals.

French Bulldog Parties and Other Stuff You Find in Regent’s Park

It is officially “park weather”.

Park Weather is when London pretends to be summer for like a day.

Park Weather means you leave the house even though it’s your official day of rest, only to find yourself sporadically whipped by gusts of wind that leave you shivering on the grass, wrapped in your portable tartan picnic blanket, looking longingly at the part of sky where the sun used to be because your bedroom window lied and it’s still absolutely bloody freezing.

You know, Stupid Park Weather.

Classic “park weather”

All it takes is one hint of sunshine and we’re out.

Lining the aisles of Tesco Metro clutching cans of gin-in-a-tin and a pack of Pringles, frantically yelling “SUN’S OUT, LET’S GO TO THE PARK, ASSEMBLE, ASSEMBLE” into our phones and wondering whether to wear a waterproof coat over all our ambitiously summer-like clothing.

And so I found myself on a bench in Regent’s Park at the weekend, dropping location pins into a Whatsapp chat and awaiting the arrival of my mates Em (human) and Buster (dog), a bag of tubular supplies at my feet and the wind…

Oh, the wind.

Ear malfunction

It was while I was considering the true meaning of the acronym BST when my phone rang, and a voice said:

“Hey so I’m near where you are, but have just stumbled upon what appears to be a French Bulldog convention, and there’s about 50 dogs and their owners just standing about having a chat. Want to meet here instead?”

…to which I replied “What yes where?” and within minutes, my Regent’s “Park Weather” Day Out had begun in the best way possible.

With loads of French Bulldogs having a massive bulldog party.

That’s right my friends, London’s population of Frenchies had gathered for their monthly en mass walk in Regent’s Park.

There were loads of them. All in one place.

Playing and stuff.

It was…beautiful.

Obviously, at the time we didn’t know it was a regular monthly thing.

To us it was just a huge, random gathering of exactly the same sort of dog, like a magical dream, so we just sort of stood around watching them for a while, a bit baffled, not really knowing what was going on and saying things like

“what the hell”

“I don’t understand”

and

“look that one’s wearing a stripy jumper”

Eventually we dragged ourselves away from the bulldogs.

There were other things vying for my attention, such as the fact that Regent’s Park also seemed to be attracting a lot of people with wheels for feet.

I’m not sure when it became ok to rollerblade again in public, but I saw one person doing it in Old Street the other day and then this, so it’s safe to say after years in 90s exile, wheelyfeeting around the place is quite possibly “back”.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about this turn of events, but to be fair, at the time I was preoccupied with how the conversation went before this couple left the house that day.

“No, you take the blades today. I’ll walk. Slowly. Away from you.”

Another thing I noticed was some fairly ambiguous topiary.

I’m assuming it’s someone’s job to be the Royal Parks Custodian of Foliage, which means someone is responsible for the fine feat of bushy engineering below.

Say what you see folks, just say what you see.

But then came the surest sign of all that London Park Weather was in session.

A moment’s revered silence please, while we all stand back and commend this man for his choice of trousers.

So pink.

So Sunday.

So very Park Weather.

Oh, Park Weather. We love you. Welcome back.

Long may you continue, all the way until at least 6pm tomorrow.

14th April 2015
There’s Loads of Dogs on Hampstead Heath. Loads.

Last Sunday I went to Hampstead Heath for a walk.

Despite what a lot of people will have you believe, there’s actually no point in going to Hampstead Heath unless you mega like dogs.

Either that or you should probably own a dog, or want to talk to dog owners about their dogs, or want your dog to meet someone else’s dog so you can say how alike they look then watch them cavort and tumble and nod with feeling when one of them leaps into a pile of fox poo, which’ll definitely happen because they’re dogs and that’s the canine equivalent of going to Alton Towers.

Your dog looks like my dog

You could theoretically go to Hampstead Heath without wanting to do any of those things.

But why would you want to?

As the non-dog owning folk who once attempted to eat a hearty picnic spread in front of my Labradors once discovered (while I half-heartedly yelled “Charlie, ELLIE, no, leave it, oh…bugger. SORRRRRYYYYY” across the field)… it’s just not worth it.

My dog will probably eat your picnic. Sorry.

I know what you’re thinking.

Even if you didn’t like dogs, you could still go for the views, yeah? Eat some cake at Kenwood House? Do a nice walk? Parliament Hill?

What’s that, kites? You’ve got a new kite? Want to feel like you’re in the countryside, in London?

Let me make this clear.

I’m warning you. There’s no escaping them.

The hound-shaped influx starts before you even get there, especially if you go to Hampstead by Overground or Tube.

Either way, you’re pretty much guaranteed to see some sort of wolf derivative, or at the very least a chihuahua that looks suspiciously like its owners somewhere along the way.

This time on the Northern Line, I encountered a tiny small little bear.

And by encountered, I mean located and zoned in on the empty seat beside her like a ravenous hawk, because there is nothing better than sitting next to a dog on the tube.

But that’s just the warm up.

As soon as you leave the tube station at Hampstead, they’re everywhere.

Seriously, you can’t move for dogs in this part of London.

I think this is because everyone has enough money to buy big houses – proper ones with stairs (stairs!) and stuff – and therefore can easily accommodate Proper Sized Dogs into their life plan.

You don’t really get that in Dalston, where life plans generally stop at “should I eat eggs for breakfast today”.

It’s also a good place to go on Sunday if you have a hangover.

All the animals running around will appease the anxious, vulnerable, life-questioning feeling of dread you’re currently experiencing, but if that doesn’t work then the Heath is also conveniently surrounded by loads of really, really good pubs.

And guess what?

Most of those have loads of dogs in too.

Some pubs quite frankly go above and beyond the call of duty, like the Spaniard’s Inn.

This pub is pretty well known for loads of reasons, Dickens and Keats and stuff, but its most notable feature is allowing your dog to have a shower before dinner.

Anyway this time we went to the Flask in Hampstead, and took Buster with us.

Buster is my friend Emily’s dog and he’s basically well cool.

Case in point: this was his face when we told him that we’d managed to book a table in the one bit of the pub where dogs weren’t allowed, which meant he would have to sit on one side of the threshold (dark wood), while we consumed vast quantities of red wine and beef on the other (light wood).

In case you can’t read dog expressions, this one is “sod that.”

All in all, going to Hampstead Heath on a Sunday is an excellent idea.

But only if you like dogs.

If you don’t, then honestly. It’s Sunday. What are you thinking? Just stay in bed.

8th March 2015
Irrevocable Truths About Going to Field Day in Victoria Park

Last Saturday I went to Field Day.

Field Day is a music festival in Victoria Park. It’s one of those ones where you don’t have to bring a tent because there’s no camping, and besides, your tent would probably get stolen anyway.

It’s a good place to go with a group of mates if hanging around in a park with beer and music is your bag (it’s my bag), plus if it’s sunny and the line-up’s decent, you can do a lot worse things with a Saturday afternoon in June.

(Although at £50 for a one day ticket, admittedly those worse things will probably be a bit cheaper).

That said, if you’re going and really want to enjoy the day to its full potential, you should reconcile yourself with a few basic truths first.

1. You will see four out of 50+ possible acts.

This is because most of your conversations will go like this:

“Oh, we could go and see Temper Trap…oh no we can’t. They’re not on the line up any more.”

“Why don’t we go and watch SOHN then?”

“They’re over the other side.”

“Let’s walk over.”

“Or we could just get a drink and sit here, I can sort of hear it.”

“Yeah. Let’s sit here for a bit and work out where to go.”

“We should go to the bar.”

“Yes, let’s go to the bar.”

2. You will lose your friends.

Despite this festival taking place in what is basically a large garden, you will lose everyone. Some will wander off to watch an obscure Syrian rapper, others will naturally drift towards the bar, and before you know it there’s a split in your group that no amount of Whatsapp pin dropping can bring together.

Eventually, unable to decide what to see, who to meet or where to go, you’ll just sit down on a patch of grass, take photos of yourselves and wait for things to come to you.

None of this apply to your gay friends, however, who will find everyone they know, immediately, all the time, wherever you are.

I don’t know how.

3. Mobile phones will not work.

With thousands of people all bumbling around like demented moths trying to locate their friends, the 3G air above Victoria Park will be blocked with 10,000 variations of exactly the same text message, all of which will arrive long after you have moved on to somewhere else.

I recommend finding someone taller than you, hopping on their back, and doing The Meerkat instead.

4. Everything sounds bad in a tent.

Let’s be honest, there’s a reason the best nightclubs in the world aren’t built with large sheets of plastic for rooves. But this isn’t a nightclub, it’s a park, and something’s got to give.

Unfortunately, and not ideally for a music festival, that thing is volume.

Thank god for beer. Speaking of which…

5. £5 Red Stripe.

Let’s just look at those words for a minute. £5 for a can of Red Stripe. Five pounds. For a can. Of Red Stripe. Red Stripe. The Jamaican beer which sells for 50p in most Dalston cornershops, and £1.50 at Ridley Road Market Bar.

Five pounds.

For a can.

Of Red Stripe.

Five.

And yet devoid of any other option, you will pay it.

6. There will be queues for the toilets.

Use this time to refocus, meditate, drunkenly compliment the girl wearing a patterned all in one next to you, and imagine a world where festival toilets don’t have queues.

Or, use it as an opportunity to relocate your friends by knocking on every Portaloo door and asking everyone outside it “Did a girl go in here? Dark curly hair? Asian? About 20 minutes ago? SUE, SUE, ARE YOU IN THERE?”

7. Fairground rides are a good idea in theory.

In practice, they’re £10 a go.

And as we’ve already discussed, you can get not one, but two Red Stripes for that.

It’s a no brainer.

8. You should get cash out before you arrive.

The queues for the cash machines are quite long, but the fun really starts once you get to the front, debit card in hand, and see this:

9. You’ll go again (but not next year).

This is because it takes two years to forget all the irrevocable truths that make Field Day not quite as good as other things that cost £50 in London. Then, one day in April 2016, you’ll see a big poster on Kingsland Road and think “yes, that is a good idea. I cannot recall having anything but a marvellous time there.”

And you will go back.

16th June 2014