Flying Without Wings

Yesterday the nurse and I took our charge to Greenwich Park to enjoy the respite from the record rainfall that has plagued the country for the month of April. We also wanted to check on the vandalism being perpetrated on this World Heritage Site by the construction of a venue for Olympic equestrian events. What we found, on what was publicly-accessible grass in front of the National Maritime Museum and the Queen's House, was this array of temporary seating and acres of plastic sheeting. There was no peace, only construction noise. Shameful.

We took the dog with us, and when we had lunch in the tea-room gardens, I kept him on his lead. He's a great scrounger, and would have gone home several pounds heavier if he'd been allowed to visit the other patrons.

If there's one creature outdoor eateries attract, it's pigeons, and if there's one thing the dog can't resist (apart from cats), it's chasing pigeons. So there I was, staring into space, then there I was, sprawled on the ground, as the dog noticed a pigeon and launched himself towards it. I can only assume my bum slid right off the slippery seat in a split second, because I wasn't conscious of travelling through the air and landing flat out, arm extended and, fortunately, still holding on to the lead.

There was immediate silence in the garden as people tried to work out how to react. I must admit to aching a bit and there is a bruise on one knee, but all I can think, between giggles, is that I flew without wings or a plane, and I wasn't even aware of it at the time.

Why can't we relive some moments of our lives in slow motion, like they do in the action replays?