London, what's going on in your parks?

Ohhhh, it was a rather glorious day on Wednesday in our fair Capitol. The sun was yellow and high and the sky was a crisp cobalt blue, fading to white down to the horizon. The ladies, large sunglasses and new shorts, the men, ties off and sleeves rolled up, swelling the pavements and laughing noisily on the chairs and benches outside of small, welcoming cafes and exclusive-looking bars, playing Sash or Ultimate Chillout, volumes 3 to 6.

I decided to lunch ('lunch' as a verb; deal with it) in Regent's Park whilst the sun was out; my vitamin D levels cripplingly low and my tan so pale you could see my heart beating through my chest. I put my packet of ham and a Pepsi Max into a small orange bag and I headed off to greens. Everyone along the way was in the best of spirits- more people smiling, laughing; more people walking in groups; more people sitting on curbs and doorways, smiling at text messages; people taking their time smoking, instead of sucking it hungrily down in one, like a hooker on their last customer of the shift.

Regent's Park, you are quite splendid!

Having walked past the ornate fountains and stunning flower beds- petals in colours I didn't even know existed- I found a nice grassy verge to park my derriere, the gradient leaning into the sun so I could get a bit of brown underneath my increasingly bold turkey neck. I rolled up my sleeves a couple of inches (pow pow, gunshow) and popped my clogs off to air out the trotters. Music on: let's start with 'Shuffle' by Bombay Bicycle Club, perhaps lining up 'Bloodbuzz Ohio' by The National afterwards. Yes, marvellous!

Best of all- better than the ham, or the Pepsi Max, or the music, or the smell of my own feet- the other people sharing our space in the park were having a spectacularly nice time, all in their own ways. There were children worrying pigeons, tourists pointing at the BT Tower, couples putting their hands in each other's back pockets and whispering the sweetest nothings, and joggers pausing in front of members of the opposite sex to catch their breath and flex.

My favourite, however, was two middle-aged gentlemen, silver haired and bespectacled, their brogues catching the glare of the sun. They sat on the grass together, pulling out frosty bottles of beer, and jostling eachother as neither had brought a bottle opener. They laughed as they tried to open the bottles with other bottles, pretended to use their teeth, and finally managed it with one of their belts. They looked like quintessential naughty schoolboys. They only needed a slingshot in the back pocket and their ties around their heads. Perhaps kicking a football at a smaller boy or feeding a girl spiders. Sitting there, legs out spread and likely telling each other bawdy jokes, it reminded me how important green spaces are in London and how the grass beneath your feet and the leaves rustling over head and take you away from the grey and the grim and grub and the grime of the Big Smoke's bustle.

London, [apart from the two embarrassingly simple twenty-somethings putting plastic bags over their heads] your parks in the sunshine, full of smiling people- you're doing it right!