The boy is on the verge of walking. He is very enthusiastic about practising and regards time spent in car seats and buggies to be valuable training time wasted. What little patience he has was used up on the train journey to and from the city, so the Blonde and I decided that some family time in one of London’s parks was just the ticket. What we didn’t anticipate was that five intrepid travel writers would tag along too. The Tomato’s powers know no bounds.
St James’s Park is the first of three parks that cut a green swathe across the heart of west-central London in close proximity to a wealth of famous landmarks. We strolled across Westminster Bridge and through Parliament Square, nary giving the Palace of Westminster and the Abbey a second glance. Not for us were the historical delights of Poets’ Corner or the Cabinet War Rooms; Horse Guards and 10 Downing Street could wait for another day. We had an appointment with well manicured lawn and ice cream. The party strode on with the Tomato indulging in a well-earned nap while we exchanged tales of daring-do and global adventure.
The park, being the nearest green space to Westminster and Whitehall, was littered on a sunny Friday lunchtime with workers enjoying a little late summer sun. It is the oldest of London’s Royal Parks, dating back to Tudor times when Henry VIII needed a deer park in town for a spot of light hunting and built St James’s Palace to host the accompanying feasts. It has been through a number of major changes since and the current layout owes itself to John Nash and the changes he wrought in the early 19th century. Forming the centerpiece is a delightful lake with a large population of exotic ducks and geese. We paused on the bridge to take in the carefully planned views; to the west, the unmistakable Buckingham Palace is neatly framed by the park’s avenues, while east brings a roofscape one would more associate with Prague (so I was informed by the worldly Mutt). The domes and turrets of Whitehall provide Horse Guards Parade with a most beguiling backdrop.
The Tomato chose this moment to awaken and we found ourselves a patch of grass on which to watch the world go by. As it was, the world at large would have to wait while we watched the Tomato go by. Repeatedly. With the determination and lack of any clear purpose that only a one-year-old can muster, the boy resolved to push his own buggy the length and breadth of St James’s Park. He would have achieved his end too, if it hadn’t been for the erratic steering of said buggy, the inconsiderate placement of deckchairs and his inherent inability to reverse. Thwarted in his initial aim, the Tomato settled for terrorizing idle members of the public and the IgoUgo writing community.
Should you tire of standing outside Buckingham Palace (and you should because it isn’t that blessed with features or excitement) then you could do far worse than take the weight off in the Park. A little contemplation is good for the soul. I can’t guarantee a performance by the Tomato (pushing his buggy is very last week) but it may give you time to catch up with old friends and even acquire new ones.