Good Friday. Hampstead Heath fair.

We fixed Erbie in the back pack and got the tube up to Hampstead to meet Jonty, Lu and dog for a walk across Hampstead and a look at the Easter fair that arrives annually. We met in the Freemason's Arms, jolly staff, but jolly difficult to sit together. We couldn’t sit in the main bar, dogs were allowed, but children not, and the designated children’s area was the restaurant, which resembled more of a crèche, where dogs were not allowed. It being a bank holiday weekend, had started drizzle, but we, being British sat in it under a parasol – together, outside. The dog was given a bowl of water and we huddled together with pints and crisps. The drizzle turned to rain, and we moved Erbie to the Baby Bjorn on my front, and set off to look around the fair, there were all the usual suspect stalls and rides from waltzers, teacups, dodgems a big wheel and even a helter skelter, I did fancy a ‘scream if you want to go faster’ whiz on the waltzers, but it was not to be. The Guardian reader won Erbie a Sponge Bob Square Pants on a shooting range, which he is rather good at, but then on the coconut shy, throwing not being his forte, got given an extra ball, as we were all laughing so much, stall holder included. It all had a rather bittersweet melancholy feel, those bright colours and lights on a patch of muddy grass in the rain, like an out of season seaside resort, as English as tea and biscuits, only drunk from a thermos in an anorak, with the rain and wind whipping about.