4566/17495
This morning we took a trip to
the Princess Diana Memorial Playground in Kensington Park. It’s a fun place, full of kids and noise (adults aren’t allowed in unless accompanied by a child) and dominated by a big pirate ship at its centre. Our friend’s kids ran off to climb up into the crow’s nest (like the bird the crow and a nest where a bird might live) whilst we sat with Phoebe who was fascinated by everything that was going on.
The fountain and pond was empty of water and kids were running around on the rocks, playing at pirates and making friends. I like the way that kids can bond very quickly with other kids, based only on the fact that they are all kids. A tall and shouty regular London boy was aggressively proclaiming himself part of the Kid Pirate Army, but had recruited a younger, gentler boy, dressed in a smart tank top and clearly from a well-to-do family. Whilst the older boy shouted about the need to attack their enemies, the younger boy replied with a rather more fanciful idea about having a dragon that they has to care for. They were coming at the concept of pirates from very different directions and yet they allowed their stories to meld, were accepting of each other’s approaches and got on with working out how to keep the game going. It was kind of beautiful, a little parable about how people of all backgrounds, creeds and colours were all the same.
The kids slightly spoiled this by spending the next 30 minutes playing a game where they imagined that pigeons were an enemy trying to take over their pirate kingdom. They would shout “Emergency! Emergency†and run at the birds, waving their swords their faces like masks of fury. It got rather wearing, but I still found it funny. The older kid then had the idea of throwing a handful of sand at the pigeons, though from enough of a distance that he was just throwing sand randomly in the air. I didn’t want to stop his fun but was worried about my baby being hit by these particles. Another woman was less forgiving and rebuked him, “Do not throw that anywhere near me!†The boy protested, “But I am trying to save the city.†His argument didn’t really hold much water, but he moved away to throw his sand elsewhere, so if the future of London was in his sand-flecked hands then he had really let us down at a crucial moment.
I took Phoebe on a walk around the little hidden paths and corners of the garden. It was full of surprises like wigwams, play areas and music coming from speakers or from kids playing with installations. This place has everything. I don’t want to say that I am delighted that Princess Diana died, but it’s a very impressive place. I think my baby found it all fascinating, but it will be fun to come back here with her as she gets older and can interact more and terrify me by climbing up rope ladders and clambering over rocks and attacking pigeons intent on destroying London.
As so often I wasn’t able to stay for the fun as I had to get home for the drive up to Southport, but I am glad I got this morning with my family.
Southport is very impressive - I’ve been here once before, 11 years ago, but all I remembered about it was that I
had to run a half marathon in Reading the next morning. Apparently Louis-Napoleon was exiled here and then based the design of Paris on the wide tree-lined boulevard of Southport’s main thoroughfare. Though I think that’s as dubious as the story about local boy Marc Almond having to go to hospital to have his stomach pumped. I tried to catch up on my audio warming ups, but was surprised to see that the theatre’s free wi-fi wouldn’t allow me to access my own website. It was blocked because, apparently, it is distasteful. What a stomach full of dog spunk that is! It seemed ironic that the theatre would allow me to come and perform in person, but not let my virtual self in. I gave the local council quite an earful when I got on stage, perhaps proving their point.
Apparently Marc Almond’s mum used to work in this theatre, presumably cleaning up after the fictional excesses of her son. Me? Tasteless? Come on.
