I decided today in a rush of sunlit enthusiasm that what I really wanted to do was take my book and some lunch to Greenwich Park and sit reading in the sun. Never mind the tourists, never mind the nagging voice whispering about bookshelves, I was going to sit and look wistful in the park, goddamit.
I did pretty well. I got some Masala Vada from a Plumstead supermarket without worrying too much about whether or not I was creating a special Indian influenced Polari, and set off.
Massala Vada is a thing of great lovliness which my hips are never going to thank me for. As far as I can tell it's dal and onion and chillies and a load of herbs and spices, pushed into a round pattie and deep fried. Bloody delicious, let me tell you. There appear to be several different kinds of Vada and it's taking enormous strength of mind not to go down to the shop and buy them all and try them straight away. I've never tasted anything like it. As good as Ganesh Corner.
So. Clearly I was never going to make it through the bottleneck which is Woolwich without starting to eat them, was I? There's quite a lot of traffic between Plumstead and Greenwich Park; so by the time I parked I was one Vada and one Samosa down (oh, didn't I mention the Samosa? *cough*). Picnic without any food: no problem, I still had my book.
I wandered about in the park a bit, stoping to admire the view and wishing that it wasn't *quite* so windy. I even spent a good five minutes on a bench hunched over my book. Perhaps not quite as bucolic as I had imagined, but it was blimmin freezing. The only way to keep warm was to keep moving.
Eventually I settled upon the cunning plan of buying myself a cappucino to warm my hands on, and I did then spend a nice ten minutes sitting in the sun sucking froth through the hole in the lid. It was lovely. I watched people chivvying their children about and taking photographs of tourists. Then I identified the nearest steep hill and walked up it. A small but significant act of defiance in the face of Indian snacks.