After my breakfast shift I ambitiously set off to Temple Island and the start of the Royal Regatta. Marquees were set up along the way. Pink, fat women in dresses with their hair curled too tightly sitting on boats drinking Champagne and Pimms, brown skinned young blokes sitting on the grass chatting with other boys and old men in stripey blazers and official looking passes dotted the Thames path to Henley on Thames. I wasn’t dressed appropriately. I wasn’t the only one though, so I didn’t feel too badly. I made my way through the crowed pathway filled with girls in flashy dresses and strappy shoes and tall men in school boy jackets and posh accents. I didn’t have any actual plan, so I walked the four or so miles to the town. I bought myself a Smiths cd at Henley Record Store after browsing through all the old vinyl collection, a bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut and a bus ticket back to Mill End. The folly on Temple Island
At the end of the first field of the estate, I dropped my bag onto the grass and climbed into the stream. I waded around until my feet had gotten used to the cold water, then just sat down in it. I sloshed back to the pub in drenched shorts, t-shirt and sandals, happy and cool.