Back from my holidays, I took the dog for an early evening, early Autumn walk on Clapham Common. Our first walk together in just under a month, we soon settled into our long established roles. He pushed ahead, attending to his business, sniffing and weeing, wagging and weaving. Busy. I followed behind, miles away, enjoying the glorious weather. Carrying a heavy poo bag. Looking for a bin. I know my place in this relationship.
But the weather was, without a doubt, spectacular. Truly beautiful. The sunlight was soft and golden, summer’s intensity already faded but leaving behind a deep palette of rich and mature colours, heavily ripe , holding on to the warm days before their inevitable decline into bleakness. A circle of red-faced ladies performed yoga stretches as I passed. Small children ran around in wellies and with sweaters tied round their waists, clutching ice cream cones.
I turned a corner and there at the end of a tree-lined path was the bandstand.
It used to look tatty and not long for this world but since it’s resuscitation at the beginning of this century the band stand now is restored to former glories. It looked perfect in the lovely light. Not a day older than in its late Victorian pomp. Sadly no music was playing this evening but we both enjoyed it in our separate ways, the dog and I. I admired its refurbished architecture and the dog trotted over to cock his leg against it. He has no sentimental side, the beast.
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