So when we we have nothing to do we hit the local park. Its improved a lot since I spent my youth there downing cider and smoking fags (for those not familiar with English phraseology ‘fags’ is short for cigarettes – stop sniggering you call backsides ‘fannies’).
In this modern age our local park has much better facilites – even a cafe – and the security cameras minimise vandalism. All very nice. But this particular day we arrived to find the local amateur dramatics group had set up camp to rehearse:
Quite bizzare even by my ‘whatever’ standards. I mean it’s not like the local kids gave a toss – they carried on screaming and messing around while the actors performed ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ like it was all business as usual.
Here’s a little snippet (the chap with long hair and a beard is playing a woman – sorry I don’t do Shakespeare so I have no idea what is going on):
I like the little kid being dragged off stage by his mother. Anyway by now we’d had enough so we headed off. Only to be faced with another great English tradition: cricket. Now for anyone outside the old Empire cricket is the strangest of sports. Its a bit like baseball but it takes days to play a game and a result is not guaranteed.
Its played anywhere you can find a flat piece of lawn. Everyone wears white and you throw a red ball at a bloke with a bat as fast as you can and he hits it as hard as he can:
So that’s a typical Saturday afternoon in sunny June. Well there wasn’t much sun. Actually whilst the States experience a massive heatwave we Brits are literally drowning…we’re having the worst summer ever. Seriously!