Parklife

Every morning I walk through Kennington Park on my way to work. It's usually quite pleasant - the squirrels scampering, the joggers huffing and puffing, the council estate devil dogs tearing across the grass, weights dangling from their necks as they train for their next cage fight.

Unfortunately whoever opens the various gates each morning has set up his own version of the laboratory experiment where a rat has to sniff out some cheese in a maze. The gate in is always open, but it's become a lucky dip as to which gate out will be unlocked. On Wednesday, already late for an early meeting, I was blocked at two exits and and ended up doubling back half the length of the park.

I assume I was being watched by a park keeper wearing a lab coat and perched on a tree branch, making notes on his clipboard. "Subject 17: grows increasingly panicked and kicks a pile of leaves in frustration. Other active subjects openly amused by this display of effeminate rage. Note: tomorrow, see if Subject 17 is fooled by fake Exit sign pointing towards pit filled with dog crap".