best of both

It was a gorgeous Saturday in London and in the spirit of summer I decided to accompany my husband to the Telegraph pub in Putney to watch the second game of the Lions rugby series in South Africa. The pub was packed and the atmosphere suitably buzzing with such a mixture of people that I wouldn’t have felt out of place if I had brought my great-granny along.
We found a good spot – where I could actually see the screen – at a table beside two Lions supporters. In the corner was the “buggy brigade” where all the mom’s had parked off with their newborns (I counted four but might have missed a few as they were just so tiny). The dad’s weren’t far but had distanced themselves suitably so as not to be roped into some task that would distract them from what was shaping up to be an exciting game. To our left was a large table of pensioners who had obviously come to enjoy a Saturday afternoon lunch and instead found themselves surrounded by rowdy rugby supporters. Nonetheless, they didn’t seem too perturbed and chattered amongst themselves and feigned the odd interested glance over at the big screen.
Support was almost certainly equally split between the two teams and I smiled to myself that here we all were just enjoying the match side-by-side. Being South African-British myself - I tick both boxes on official forms - I am usually torn when someone asks me where “home” is but when it comes to sports teams there is never any doubt; I’ll always shout for the boys in green. I looked over and there was a tiny-tot in a Springbok jersey, the little girl beside me told her dad, in her British accent, that she was supporting the team in green, the guy in front of us was shouting at the screen in Afrikaans and I wondered how far from home you could stray and still feel like you never left. There was no obvious rivalry just a sense that this was neutral territory and all we really cared about was that our team won.
It turned out to be a nail biter but the Boks took the game in the last minute and perhaps if I was filling in one of those forms that day, I might just tick one box for a change. The Lions supporters at our table stood to leave and congratulated us on our teams victory and because of that great gesture of sportsmanship I thought, had I been filling in one of those forms, I may in fact consider ticking the other box too.

sunshine at lunchtime

Yesterday I decided to escape the confines of my basement office to lunch in the gardens of the Natural History Museum. It was a blissful London day of sunshine and happy Londoners, thanks to an overdue dose of vitamin D. I found a suitable spot and parked myself in front of the temporary Butterfly Jungle exhibition which is said to be housing iguanas, pythons, scorpions, tarantulas and hundreds of butterflies. I inched myself slightly forward at the sudden thought that there could be a mass escape and I would find myself surrounded by some of the world’s creepiest creatures.
Sitting reading my Lonely Planet magazine while basking in glorious rays of sunlight, I would glance up occasionally as a school child ran past me yelling to disperse flocks of pigeons. As charming as the scene was, I was aware that I was in the firing line and would be forced to spoil fun if one of those pigeons literally did get the poop scared out of it. There was a wonderful buzz in the gardens as passers-by were attracted to a brightly decorated piano in the far end of the garden that teased with the words “play me” scrawled across the front. I quite enjoyed one man’s rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody and just when I began to get lost in my thoughts a six-year-old took his turn and the tune became slightly less melodic and more of a constant thumping. Still, everyone has to start somewhere.
The whole experience left me a bit more in love with this city than I have been of late. For a few moments in my day I was able to block out the noise and busyness of life and just soak up my surroundings which can often be much scarier than the exhibition behind me. It’s a jungle out there.