Green Park

When I first went to London I was seven or eight years old and the thing I liked most was the parks. I was amazed at how much green there was in London. Over the years I moved on to all the usual tourist attractions, especially the historical ones (the Tower, Westminster Abbey, St Paul's, Greenwich) and more recently to the museums and galleries. And, of course the shops, especially the ones where I can't afford more than a cup of tea and half a yard of fabric out of the remnants box.

Yesterday was a lovely autumn day and I was in London to meet a publisher and look at illustrations. We were finished at four, so I had some town time before I had to go home. I said hello to the National Gallery, then stood in Trafalgar Square and asked myself what I really wanted.

The clock twirled backwards. I wanted to be outside, in a park.

I walked down through Whitehall, past the site where Charles I was executed, past the entrance to Downing Street, and down to Westminster where I said hello to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, or the Queen ELizabeth Tower as we're supposed to call it now. Then, as I heard Big Ben striking six and knew that Tony was hearing it on the radio at home, I crossed over into Green Park.

The trees are turning, leaves are beginning to fall. Pelicans were sleeping on the islands in the lake, swans sailed, geese waddled about, and a duckling paddled confidently along. The light was beautiful. I even met a Cavalier Spaniel and a dachsund, and chatted to their owner. It was the right call.

Apparently it's called Green Park because Catherine of Braganza, the queen of Charles II, discovered that her husband had sent flowers to his latest lady-love. She had all the flowers in Green Park cut down to hit back at him. Imaginative, but not good for the view.