Out in the Country

In London there seems to be this obsession with pretending you’re in the country. For instance places are named as villages, like Marylebone village, which is nestled between the remoteness of Oxford Street and the quiet clippity-clop of the horses on Marylebone road.

I like to do this myself, I’m always looking for a quiet lane to walk down. I found just the place today on my way back from collecting my vegetable box, from a place called Farm direct (more country references). There’s a row of mews houses on a quiet lane off Ronald’s road which snakes up towards Highbury Fields. It’s also where I found this lovely coloured gate pictured above. Nice isn’t it? Saturday is the perfect day to admire a finely coloured gate.

As I walk down the hill to collect my veg box, the fancy dress brigade pass by, a stereotypically dressed Red Indian, Mexican and Frenchman - complete with onions around his neck. It’s 10.30 am. I’m not sure where they’re going at this hour dressed like that, but they are looking very proud of themselves.

At the bottom of the hill I see a wasp attacking a butterfly. I kick the wasp away, despicable creatures, remind me of estate agents. The butterfly is still flapping around distressed so I put him in the hedge so he doesn’t get trampled on.

My good deed done I continue to the farm shop. I had to take my car for its MOT yesterday. I was driving to the garage, becoming increasingly paranoid that something was wrong with it while trying to map my way via tube stations; there’s a tube station to the right –Tufnell Park, I can’t be far away. I take a right, then a left and down the hill until I can see a tube station on the left, that should give me some clues – Tufnell Park, oh well, if I drive in circles all day they won’t be able to fail it. I sat in work waiting for the call and they phoned to say it had passed. I couldn't believe it, first time in 5 years.

I collect the vegetables, go for a run and my morning chores complete, I wonder what to do. I take a bus to the centre of London village, for no real reason, but I’m sure last time I past Bloomsbury square, close to the British Museum, there was a newsagents with a huge sign that said something like ‘purveyors of quality Viz magazine’. Can’t be. I must have dreamt it.

I board the bus and it drives past a pub garden, where a group of lads are sitting dressed as cops and robbers. What on earth? It’s only 2pm.