I write to you from the Gardens of Carlton. I'm sitting against a tree in front of a big pond with not one but two splashing bits of water both at different heights. Up until now I've been at complete peace, I spied a guy reading a book in this exact position not 10 minutes ago. I thought to myself 'yes, and I shall be the next to sit there', as park spot of choice is a competitive sport you know and you really have to be quite cunning about how aggressively you pursue a patch of grass. Now I chose this spot because the guy who was sitting in it before was in perfect solitude, had a perfect position and a natural back support, what more can you ask for. I have been delighting in it as it's proud new owner for some half hour now. And let me tell you, it's just lovely. Only, now a small family has decided that they would like to park their pram not one metre away from the end of my outstretched leg and have summoned many thousands of seagulls and pigeons with their (now shared) afternoon snacks. I was initially thinking 'incredulous' until their young and gorgeous, wide eyed daughter approached me in bubbling enthusiasm to alert me to the fact that many many feathered friends are now in our immediate vicinity. This observation I was very glad for, because up until that moment I was wondering what that horrendous squawking was. But, in all seriousness, I was completely softened by her confidently innocent approach. In fact, I melted a bit and felt ashamed of my previous and protective anger of my spot, which is not really mine at all. I am, actually in a public place, and I have no more right to this patch of grass than this family.
Now that they have left, the natural order of things has been restored, only now I am slightly more enlightened, I must say and slightly more at peace now that a new family bearing seemingly delicious and powerfully magnetic snacks has rid my little area of any scabby birds. I would clap if I were in another context. But for now I'll just relax and continue to watch the park instead.