For two balmy days this weekend, parks filled up with shiny, happy people, drinking, snogging, going wobbly over the apricot sunset — and remembering that summer in the city makes up for all the months that feel, spiritually, like one long November Thursday.
Of course, nothing is perfect. There is one problem with summer. Namely, people. Seriously, a few choice tribes can really put a dampener on a beautiful day. Perhaps you spotted some this weekend.
In no particular order — they’re all awful — these are the ones I am most wary of.
The lido fanciers
Is there a more disturbing sound than the snap of Lycra on a goose-pimpled buttock? Beware, for before long this sound will ricochet around the city from dawn until dusk as shoals of smug swimmers stand on the edge of lidos, fixing wedgies and trembling with pleasure at the thought of immersing themselves in tepid water for 15 minutes, then telling you, in detail, about their new Dryrobe.
The perma-pissed
Somewhere in between Sunday’s “accidental” session and Monday night’s “cheeky half that became four wholes”, they lost their grip on reality. By 2pm on any given Tuesday, their eyes are glazed. By night, it’s grainy Instagram Stories of the self-service machines at Peckham McDonald’s. Every day, they park up in the ladies for a “disco nap”. Hun, it’s not subtle if you live-tweet the hangover.
The hungover commuter
At 8am the perma-pissed become hungover commuters. They are identifiable at a carriage’s breadth, partly because they are surrounded by an aura of shame, regret and heartburn — but mostly because you can smell the Monster energy drink from 40 yards. Is it too late to bring back face masks?
The perma-vacationers
You won’t see one all summer — there’s a roughly four-hour window each week when you don’t get an out-of-office response — but their absence is noisy, because you’re literally doing their job for the next three months.
The Park Runners
The foam surface on your oat latte trembles. Is that… an earthquake in SE5? Crossrail? Nope — it’s a stampede of Park Runners: slick, smelly, cheerful and clad in neon brights lest you have any difficulty spotting them in the broad daylight of a summer morning. They are comparing PBs on Apple Watches; they are taking loud swigs from a Platypus (guys: it’s a 5k). Run.
The dog lot
You have a dog! Well done! Will you stop it rolling around in my share-sized bag of Kettle Chips?
The Gen Z-ers
A posse colonises a kids’ playground, wielding iPhones, straddling a slide while a mournful toddler watches. Are they… wearing something you wore in 2004? No, this is not a shoot for Boohoo, it’s the Gen Z-ers. The plus side is if you’re over 23, they will not be able to see you. Back away slowly.
The sloshed picnickers
In the distance, just over the horizon, the scene stretches out like a millennial Somme: crushed gins in tins; Manomasa crisps strewn across ersatz batik blankets. This gang has a UE Boom — and they’re not afraid to get misty-eyed over a Bicep remix. On which note, sorry if you saw me this weekend.
In other news...
OK, so you’ve played London summer bingo — how about a round of bad wedding bingo? Kourtney Kardashian’s wedding to Travis Barker (see the happy couple, above) had it all: Portofino (naff); tiny portions of pasta (sad); the bride dancing until dawn in a leather jacket with “Mrs Barker” on the back, which resembled the sort of cheap costume someone might wear “ironically” on a hen do, except expensive.
To cap off it all off, the whole kar krash was sponsored by Dolce and Gabbana, which reportedly got a big deal to dress the clan in turbo-tacky frocks as part of a campaign to rehabilitate the Italian brand’s image after accusations of racism and homophobia. The family has a combined social media heft in the multi-millions, which amounts to a lot of free publicity. What a happy occasion.
