Primrose Hill encounters

Glorious morning, honeysuckle in bloom in the back yard … with bees! Hooray.  Though it could be just one bee.  Great wafts of scent through the window as I work.

Up early for brisk walk (running on hold at the moment) up Primrose Hill.  Noticed a young golden-haired lad crawling up the steepest bit on knees and elbows, watched by a large fat man with a ledger. “Why?” I asked. “He’s in training for the army,” said the fat man.  I looked at the young man’s raw forearms.  “Isn’t it … painful?” I asked.  “So?” said the fat man curtly, and wrote something down in his ledger.

Many runners out this morning, often with trainers urging them on, and mostly with accessories … little machines attached to their arms or waists, or carrying weights or heavy rucksacks.

Back to my drawing desk, walking past the dedicated park benches.  My favourite is “You must speak French, if you sit on my bench.”

 

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