WALDEN’S WORLD

We’re all park bench boozers now

It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting on a wet, windbuffeted bench by the river, waiting for a friend to join me. What would have been a deeply unappealing option just a month ago is now the only option. “It’ll be like being teenagers again!” my friend enthused as I asked the question every attempt at joy currently prompts: “Is it really worth the hassle?”

Already the crisps I brought are softening to a salty mush, the olives are marinating ing in rainwater, and I’m uncorking a bottle of red when I notice a man on the next bench swigging from his own bottle. W We exchange a gl glance, clearly bo both thinking: “G “God – I’m sit sitting next to a drunk.”

That’s when I notice that every other bench lining the river isn’t just occupied but, in some cases, crammed full of people intent on a spot of Saturday-night socialising. There are the middle-class middle-agers like me, primly sticking to the rules, with their Tupperware and jamón ibérico set out in the twometre distance between them. And there are the younger set defying both the weather and lockdown rules into the bargain. Many are five or six to a bench, some sitting on each other’s laps, playing music on iphones. One couple is dancing. And every one is glugging from bottles, plastic cups and cans.

We’re all park bench boozers now, and if this goes on much longer we should look forward to the return of the hip flask. It’s not only glamorous and efficient – you can tuck it into the waistband of your Lululemon compression pants as you take your government-allotted daily exercise – but the perfect stocking filler.