A walk up a hill, a poem, a plate of pasta

I don't do sport but I am turning into someone that walks everywhere. In fact, the distances I cover are not that great, but it is very satisfying to stand in north London, look at the distant Telecom Tower and know that you will be there in a couple of hours and that you will have got there under your own steam. I'm not boasting about it, mind you. I'm recommending it as a leisure activity!

One of the best walks is from one of the Northern Line Edgware branch stations to another one further along the line. Today I walked from Camden to Golders Green. It's slightly uphill... all the way to Hampstead Heath. At Hampstead Heath you have the reward of sitting at the top on one of the benches by the remodelled pond. The second part of the reward is when you drop down into Golders Green and can stuff your face in one of the cafes or restaurants. My new favourite, after just one visit, is Charlie's.

But first, a poem. I think it's autumn. I start saying it's getting autumnal in June usually, but now I think it really is autumn. Sitting on a bench at the top of the Heath this evening, watching the mist forming in the hollows, smelling the slightly mouldering vegetation, I thought, it's definitely autumn.

Ah! What's that Keats poem? "To Autumn".

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Keats is not my favourite poet, but who am I to judge? He's written a nice autumn poem there... actually, he's written a nice autumn poem here, because, of course, Keats lived in Hampstead! He probably sat not far from where I was sitting this evening when he composed those lines. That really makes them all the sweeter.

Ostriches on Sunday

The Royal Parks apart, I don't know a finer London park than Golders Hill Park.

Its attractions include a deer park, butterfly park, zoo and bandstand. The cafe, though a little pricey, is very nice and there's an ice cream stall. The grass is like a thick pile carpet to walk on.

It's fairly quiet on Sunday morning, mainly dads taking small children out. It gets busy in the afternoon, but is still quieter, I reckon, than heaving Hampstead Heath next door.

This morning I got to stand beside an ostrich and admire its quivering, plump body stuck full of enough ostrich feathers to adorn a hundred ladies' Sunday hats.

The park is owned and maintained by the Corporation of London. One way or another, they make enough out of us, so go and enjoy it while they are still "giving something back"!

"Frankly, my dear, it looked better on the bird."