Well apart from the typical June London weather of pouring rain and blazing heat another London tradition seems to have now embedded itself. The London Food festivals. These extravaganzas are everywhere now it seems. Every borough has its own version. But they seem to follow a distinct pattern. A mixture of great produce and stuff that looks like MI5 should get involved. Weird looking space veg and purple and red oils that wouldn’t look out of place in Dr Frankenstein’s laboratory. And of course the stalls are alternatively manned by nice people who you want to hug and smug people you want to strike with a copper bottomed smirching pan (whatever the hell that is). That’s the issue. It’s just cooking food. But no these folk have elevated it to some permanent game of bizarre food one-upmanship. The oil has to be trammelled or the pan should be crindled. It’s like a whole new language. And of course just like lawyers much of it is designed to part you from your cash.

I saw a bread stall with loaves of bread starting at £10.00. It said stone baked in an ancient bronze age bread oven. To a sixteenth century recipe. What the hell was in it? Platinum flour? The Magna Carta? But if you recall one of my distant columns where I referred to London tribes – I’ve discovered a sub species. The Speciality Food groups. And the Foodie groups have sub species. The Vegetarian bunch where all the women dress in that washed out knackered looking Laura Ashley stuff – always have four small blonde children (the husband always has those faux National Health specs) and everything’s about soya and spelt. The Sunday Supplement bunch – a very different kettle of fish – decidedly jeans and blazers for the men – the women all Zara meets Chanel. And they’re drooling over smoke dried andeluvian reindeer buttocks and guarana leaved wrapped organic pork chops. God bless them‘ They can waste hours knocking up a meal that bears little resemblance to food. But it’s all about textures darling. Hm. I asked for a ham sandwich at one stall and the guy asked me how did I like my ham cut – against the grain or southerly. I said in slices. He almost started crying. Especially when I asked for white bread and Kerry Gold butter.
Had a great moany email about The Tower of London! I could have told them it’s a pointless tourist rip off at £20.00 per head.

For some stupid ‘let’s favour the regions’ type of reasons – the authorities hiked most of the contents up to Leeds years ago. Seriously. The place has got bugger all in it now. You’ve got the Crown Jewels (five minutes of oh look some diamond hats), some ravens (two minutes of aren’t they just crows on steroids?) and those blokes in Red uniforms (Why do they all look slightly drunk?) Oh yes and lots of stone walls (thirty minutes of look how old this wall is). Not exactly a fun packed day for the poor wee mites and their folk you have to admit. They’ve even got signs around the place saying things like ‘here in this room were suits of handmade silver armour’. No armour mind – just a sign. Priceless. But on that subject the tourists are really filling up the place. Just look at the Open top Tour buses. Absolutely full to bursting. And is it me but do none of these companies have uniforms that fit their staff? Just take a look. Half of them seem to be wearing jackets designed for somebody three sizes bigger – or their hats appear to have been glued to their heads as they seem to be play hats for five year old children. If smartness is their aim they’re failing badly. It looks more like each morning the tour bus staff are tossed into a large skip and just pick anything they can find with a company logo on – regardless of size.

My particular favourite London tourist mystery – is the hundreds of grim faced eastern European girls now employed at key historical points to totally confuse the visitor to London. You come for a slice of merry old England and you get some stone faced harpy with no sense of humour who says things like “Zis iss ze very place ze Kink roded his horses. Velcome to ze majesty of zis castle”. Call me old fashioned but shouldn’t they at least get some training? And I mean voice training. Imagine going to see the Great Wall of China and some buffoon pipes up saying “Yeah alright innit dis wall is well speshul. Big old Emperors and all dat stuff you get me”. I guess I’m just too picky. And yes I know they work cheap.

So summer is here(ish) And apart from the usual tube strikes and road closures we have to contend with all the public parks being turned into private event venues. Take Holland Park – it is now a series of semi – permanent Marquees erected for various do’s. I’m told they need the revenue. But the key word overlooked seems to be public parks. Ho hum. But Londoners love their parks public parks. Mainly all the flat dwellers without a garden. And of course that other group. The sun worshippers who whip off most of their clothes at the merest twinkle of sunlight. Nip down to Hyde Park by Bayswater for a real culture clash regarding sunbathing. On the one hand you have the countless young roller-blading girls and boys and fitness freaks in skimpy lycra shorts and no tops worth talking about zapping around the place in the blazing heat and the large groups of burka clad women with huge shades silently sitting on every bench watching them. Weird. But is anyone upset? Is anyone shaken by any of this? No. Of course not. It’s a London thing.