Hyde Park is no ordinary park. It's enormous, a giant green grass rectangle only slightly smaller than the City of London. The western half of the park is officially called Kensington Gardens. It's all ancient land, acquired by Henry VIII for hunting almost 500 years ago. It's beautifully landscaped, with carriage drives, tree-lined avenues and open lawns. It includes the Serpentine, an elegant thin lake slicing down the middle of the park. It includes the Albert Memorial, a garish golden pinnacle gilded in the blood of Empire. It includes Rotten Row, originally the fashionable riding track between Kensington Palace and Piccadilly. It includes Speaker's Corner, that bastion of free speech where you can hear boring fanatics drone on about some supposedly burning issue. It is no ordinary park.
And yet Hyde Park is also a very ordinary park. I went for a wander around Hyde Park yesterday afternoon, and in many ways it's probably very much like your local park. It has all the usual park-y features, as listed below. Aren't parks great?
Grass: Got nothing to do? Never fear, because park lawns are a green canvas for your imagination. You can sit on them, have a picnic on them, kick a ball about on them, sunbathe on them, read a book on them and snog on them. And look, that's a whole afternoon filled already. Hyde Park has immaculate grass, all 600 acres of it. Paths: These are essential to the smooth running of any park, helping divorced dads to get their offspring to the ice cream van and back with ease. They're also perfectly designed for pushchairs, bicycles, joggers and those little green trucks that parkkeepers drive, so watch where you're walking in case you get knocked over. Hyde Park has official 'skate instructors', trying desperately to teach wobbly rollerbladers to stand upright. Wildlife: Britain's parks are like mini zoos, each containing exactly the same cuddly animals much loved by little children everywhere. See the little squirrels nibbling their nuts in the rosebeds. See the mangy ducks quacking loudly for crumbs of sliced wholemeal. See the fat pigeons lolloping along because they're too heavy to fly. And don't see the rats because they only come out at night. Hyde Park has very tame squirrels, as you can see. Turdbins: Many years ago you couldn't sit down in a park for fear of lowering yourself onto something brown and smelly. Nowadays you can't walk for more than a minute in a park without seeing some well-meaning dog owner scooping up something brown and smelly and placing it in a plastic bag. I don't know which is more unpleasant. Hyde Park is jam-packed full of dogs, many of them brown and smelly. Tearooms: If you've been stupid enough to forget your picnic basket, never fear because your local council will have opened up a small kiosk selling weak tea, Cornettos and pre-packed biscuits. Hyde Park has some very upmarket tearooms of a distinctly 70s design, selling posh ice cream and paninis. Bandstand: The old Victorian bandstand always stands rusting in one corner of the park, lonely and unloved. Local youngsters are more likely to use it for graffiti practice than for band practice. In Hyde Park yesterday the band outnumbered the geriatric deckchair-bound audience. Pond: When children get bored, send them off to stand around the shallow duck sanctuary filled with stagnant water and crisp packets. No paddling, swimming or divebombing the swans is permitted. As well as the Serpentine, Hyde Park also has its own proper pond called the Round Pond, which is actually octagonal. Civic artwork: Municipal art usually comprises of three ugly concrete blocks erected at the behest of some council committee who hoped it might improve community focus. They were wrong. Hyde Park has plenty of statues and also its very own art gallery (admission free, and well worth a look). Fountain: In the centre of every park lies a stone statue featuring the only genitalia your Victorian forebears were permitted to gawp at, leaking off-colour water into a large bowl probably filled with washing-up liquid. Hyde Park has a brand new fountain, of which more tomorrow...
Hyde Park is no ordinary park. It's enormous, a giant green grass rectangle only slightly smaller than the City of London. The western half of the park is officially called Kensington Gardens. It's all ancient land, acquired by Henry VIII for hunting almost 500 years ago. It's beautifully landscaped, with carriage drives, tree-lined avenues and open lawns. It includes the Serpentine, an elegant thin lake slicing down the middle of the park. It includes the Albert Memorial, a garish golden pinnacle gilded in the blood of Empire. It includes Rotten Row, originally the fashionable riding track between Kensington Palace and Piccadilly. It includes Speaker's Corner, that bastion of free speech where you can hear boring fanatics drone on about some supposedly burning issue. It is no ordinary park.
Grass: Got nothing to do? Never fear, because park lawns are a green canvas for your imagination. You can sit on them, have a picnic on them, kick a ball about on them, sunbathe on them, read a book on them and snog on them. And look, that's a whole afternoon filled already. Hyde Park has immaculate grass, all 600 acres of it.
Wildlife: Britain's parks are like mini zoos, each containing exactly the same cuddly animals much loved by little children everywhere. See the little squirrels nibbling their nuts in the rosebeds. See the mangy ducks quacking loudly for crumbs of sliced wholemeal. See the fat pigeons lolloping along because they're too heavy to fly. And don't see the rats because they only come out at night. Hyde Park has very tame squirrels, as you can see.
Bandstand: The old Victorian bandstand always stands rusting in one corner of the park, lonely and unloved. Local youngsters are more likely to use it for graffiti practice than for band practice. In Hyde Park yesterday the band outnumbered the geriatric deckchair-bound audience.
