If the forecast is anything to go by, it seems that London is as fickle as ever and thinking of retreating to that murky will-my-bones-ever-feel-warm-again winter-but-not-really season… so let’s just rewind back to that glorious Sunday two weekends ago.
After that delicious burger and wander in the market, we stuck to the rest of the plan and went for a walk in Regent’s Park. It’s one I don’t go to as often as I’d like, and it seemed everyone had the same idea that day and it was bustling with people. I didn’t mind though, and the blossoms were still in full swing and looking absolutely gorgeous. I got my soft serve fix (which I had to eat at lightning speed in the 27C heat! Positively tropical for the UK), E tried to educate me with weird facts of nature (he’s one of those types that absorbs endless reels of useless information from the random documentaries and articles he seems to love), and we reminisced about how one of these gems made an appearance on our first date (over 10 years ago!). We were on the tube, 18 year old me and 22 year old him, and he started talking about how particles of rat poo float all around us when we’re on the underground. Clearly, the charming conversation was what sealed the deal…
Other memories from our first date include dinner at Strada (all the rage back in the day), him ordering far too much (probably to show off) and me not being able to eat half of it because I was slightly nervous, and also didn’t want to give away my massive appetite so early. That got old pretty quick, especially as our next date was him cooking for me (he lived in a tiny flat – in an amazing area, which made up for it – with his flatmate and didn’t have a room to eat in, so he opened up a collapsable table in his bedroom) and I could only hide my insatiable love for food for so long.
I know what you’re thinking – “Ah, youth!” – and so am I. And here we are, our daily grind of mundane yet curiously entertaining conversations, bickering about why I bought Palmolive shower gel instead of Dove, and laughing at the non-sensical jokes nobody else would find remotely funny. And while the butterflies of first dates and the “why isn’t he texting me back” anxiety have faded, we still greet each other after a day apart with a big hug and an even bigger smile, and I wish those kids in 2006 Strada could see where we are now, and that all the hurdles they’ll have to jump over will be worth it.
I’m not sure how a photo diary of a walk in the park turned into an extended trip down memory lane, but I suppose that’s the beauty of writing – you never know quite where it’ll end up, and it’s usually exactly where you’re meant to be.