We all have our favourite parks.

Mine is Kensington Memorial Park. Nowhere near Kensington, it’s in the middle of a neatly laid out 1930s council estate near the top end of Ladbroke Grove. Small, well-kept but unspectacular, it’s the perfect urban park – a welcome little retreat for locals whose flats have no gardens. It’s a glorious day and I’d like to go there right now. Better not though. Not on my own. It’s the sort of place that would have once had the obligatory “funny bloke in the park” and I don’t want anyone to think that bloke is now me.