Ah, the idyllic English countryside...wooded paths, silken streams, a fabulous little playground tucked away in a lovely little park. And, look, there! A cafe, serving locally produced, delicious ice-creams. Yes, the English countryside comes alive in summer.
Which is more than can be said for the tramp passed out in the middle of the green when we sat to enjoy our aforementioned ice-creams.
Everyone was being hugely British and just Getting On With Enjoying The Sunshine, ignoring the somnambulent, rumpled pile of humanity in the middle of all this greenery.
In fact, what could be more British than two boys carrying on a hearty game of football around him? To be honest, it was a bit of a relief when the ball accidentally rolled (thwacked?) into the side of his head, as it meant he started to snore loudly. At least now we all knew for sure that he was alive.
The father of the boy who kicked the ball had a stern word with him (about how to ensure accuracy while kicking a football, and avoid...ummm...obstacles, I imagine) while trying to contain his giggles.
Eventually, up he got (lurching a bit). Off to find a more peaceful place to rest, I suppose. The collective guilt (over enjoying ice-cream when people don't have houses, over laughing when said people who don't have houses and sleep on the grass get gently thwacked in the head by a football, over the British trait of finding humour in every tragedy, not matter how large or small) was pushed back a bit, and we sat, more easily, in the sunshine.
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