Place: Primrose Hill
Although Lisa was mildly hungover from attending silent discos and science lectures, and my brain was fried from writing about pet rocks and Japanese skin clarifying techniques all night, we still believed that a picnic would be the best way to cure our respective ailments through the peaceful nature of the English urban countryside.
Primrose Hill is a section of sloping pristine parkway that lies directly to the north of Regent's Park (also on our official picnic to-do list). It's renowned for its views of the city of London, as well as for being the current or former home of notable residents such as Enrique Iglesias, Jude Law, Ewan Mcgregor, and of course, Adam Ant. (This is according to Wikipedia, which means it must be true.) Not that we expected to see any of these people on this fine overcast day, and not that we would care if we did, because true Ladies understand that Celebrity may be fleeting, but Good Breeding is eternal.
The view of London is quite impressive in a mainly flat town:
Due to the last-minute nature of this picnic, we had no time to prepare our own provisions, and thus it was necessary yet again to pay a visit to Sainsbury's, our consistent savior.
On this visit, we managed to rustle up a bean salad, Boursin cheese and water crackers, a pint of blueberries, smoked salmon, and a bottle of Chardonnay. Of course, the kitkat bar at the checkout counter called our name as well, and we made the grand discovery that half-melted kitkats with blueberries is a divine treat worth exploring!
What we both appreciated about Primrose Hill on a Thursday afternoon was that there were other picnickers in the park, yet it was still relatively peaceful.
Peaceful, that is, save for two troubling disturbances.
An ominously steady cloud of bees surrounded us, drawn perhaps by the black tights/yellow shoes combination that made me look like their queen. Or perhaps this was due to the fact that we were sitting in the middle of a patch of clover. The bees were mainly benign, however, having grown lazy on clover and picnic droppings.
The second disturbance came from our old friends, the English Teenagers on Summer Holiday. While last week they were peacefully snogging, this week they were clearly up to no good. Or at least that is what we could discern while such violent war cries as "OI!", "I'M GOING TO GET SOME FOOD," and "CAN I BORROW YOUR CREDDY!" filled the air. We then realized that it is a clear sign that you have grown old when you begin to become threatened by teenagers. But everyone knows this.
Lisa is a bonafide born-and-raised-New-Yorker. I myself have spent a significant amount of time living there as well, along with similarly badass locations throughout the world, such as Montevideo. Between the two of us Ladies we would like to think that we know how to defend ourselves. As i brandished a plastic fork and she positioned the wine bottle closer to her person, we hatched a plot to take out the kids should the need arise. We decided that London teens are far scarier than their NYC counterparts, because it is a far more prolonged and painful process to be stabbed than shot. Or so we have heard.
After we realized that our conversation had crossed very deeply into non-ladylike territory, we decided it was time to head to a more civilized location: The Pub. There we played a fair game of Scrabble over a couple of pints.
I lost and was none too pleased.
Lisa took her victory drink, as was necessary.
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