It's the hottest May on record (which means since the 1700s) and boy, are the English enjoying it. Rather like in Wellington, where warm, still days are also rare treasures, everyone rushes out to lie in the sun. There being no beaches to mooch on short of a train ride to Brighton, in London that means they hit the parks.
Unlike in New Zealand though, the ozone layer still exists and no one seems to much care about skin cancer, so the parks become filled with every shade of brown, pink and pasty white. While playing football I offered some sun cream to a pale-skinned topless, red-headed Pom. "No, I want to get burnt," was his reply.
Mad dogs ...
The highlight of the weekend though was frisbee at Ealing Common, which was rudely interrupted by a deluge of Noah proportions that was confined to the suburb apparently just to spite us and our guests from central London. We offered them towels and alcohol, but they will probably never visit the hinterlands again.