There’s nothing quite like summer in the city. Fighting for elbow room at the only two sunny bistro tables on the high street; racing for the last seat in the pub garden; playing Tetris with picnic blankets, and queueing for the lido only to swim in a soup of pool water, SPF and other people’s sweat.
There’s a whole new etiquette to observe. Here are the dos and donts if you don’t want to be the social pariah of your local park.
Do teach your dog about picnics
Ie, not to eat them, especially as they always go for the top drawer stuff. I know Parma ham is a treat for them; it is also a treat for me.
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Speakers are unavoidable in the city, and since there’s not much peace and quiet to be found in most London parks — between the dogs, nearby traffic, sirens, and click clack of stolen Lime bikes dubbed Hackney birdsong — a good soundtrack can even be welcome. But read the room. If there’s a toddler’s birthday party nearby (every 15 metres in my local, and at full capacity near the splash park) then skip the explicit versions of anything. Nothing scream-y, no songs without words. If in doubt: Beyonce, Dolly, Madonna.
Fountains are only fair game for the under 10s
I walked through Granary Square in Kings Cross this week, and saw a hundred or so children treating the spray jets as a splash park. As they should. Who shouldn’t: the grown men I saw limbering up for it.
Don’t ogle the sunbathers
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gen z travel icks
HBO
During a heatwave, any patch of grass is fair game for sunbathing (even a grassy traffic island, in a pinch). If a woman in a bikini is visible from the road, do not honk at her. She is mentally spending her lunch hour on a Greek island, and you are ruining it.
Don’t moan about all the kids at the lido
Yes, you can barely manage to complete a lap; yes, they’re packed in like sardines; yes, that one is probably having a wee. But your lido season ticket doesn’t entitle you to a child-free summer at the pool — and I say this as someone without kids.
Do put your top back on when you leave the park
Beyond your back garden, it’s socially acceptable to have your top off in the park, on a canal path, or in sight of the river. I suppose you can have it off while driving your car, but I’ve no idea why you’d want to, and this will be readable in my facial expression. And just to make this really clear, places that you should put your top back on include the bus, the tube, the overground even though it has windows, and Tesco, even if you are using self-checkout.
Don’t bring a little foil barbecue in the park
Big Green Egg
There isn’t the space and they’re rubbish, as well as banned at many green spaces. Your little black cloud of coal smoke will choke us all while your sausages slowly, slowly – so slowly – sputter towards cooked over a period of 90 minutes. At which point you will bite into them and then discuss at length if they’re cooked properly in the middle, before rolling the dice because you’ve invested too much time not to.
I am, however, pro-wheeling your proper metal barbecue to the park, as I saw in Kennington earlier this summer. Smelled lovely, didn’t scorch the grass, allowed for actual cooking, made me wish I was invited. If you live close enough to bring your whole set-up then I am all admiration.
Yes, it’s close enough to eavesdrop – too close to avoid it, actually, so we can all hear every word. Pretend you can’t.
Too far, especially without headphones. The park is all of our shared back garden, but that doesn’t mean I want to catch up on your mum’s news too. Also rude: work zoom calls on your poor overheating laptop, especially if you’re talking about marketing.
You’re angering them, then wafting their fury in my direction. You should also not flap at bees, but this time it’s because they’re nice and we need them, and they’re not bothering you anyway.
if there’s a sudden tropical rainstorm and you’re underneath the only big tree, a state of emergency overrides the unwritten laws of personal space. The same doesn’t go for crowding the last sunny patch of the park at the end of the day, though.