My siblings were really restless, so dad took us out to one of their favourite parks in London, Richmond Park. I don’t make it a habit to go to that area of London, but I figured the fresh air would be good. Besides, we hadn’t been outside in a good three months.
When we arrived, we were greeted by a massive hill, which my two youngest siblings immediately decided to race up. My remaining sister and I walked up slowly, talking about whatever it is sisters talk about while walking up a hill. It was apparently much quieter than normal but I couldn’t imagine people running around playing in an area like this, even without the restrictions.
Maybe we felt a little out of place, running around loudly and not really speaking like everyone else in the area. Maybe I’m compensating for that now by writing more formally than I’m used to. It didn’t matter though, because we were having fun, and the kids could run around.
At one point, we all settled down to chill and talk about birds, and I figured this was the best time to whip out my camera and take some aesthetic photos.
If there’s something you have to know about my dad, it’s that he’s always trying to take pictures of you. It doesn’t matter the situation, he’ll always be holding his phone saying something about “family selfie” and then posting it to his whatsapp story. He says I’m the one obsessed with social media but I haven’t seen him without his phone in his hand, typing away.
Think about that.
After visiting the park, we took the long route home, via Twickenham Stadium. Unfortunately, the nature of my job has seen me work many unforgiving shifts there, on both prep and match days. Getting back home on a match day after a tense 13 hour shift usually involves a walk to Hounslow East because the buses are full and traffic refuses to go. The walk is definitely worse than the shift. But I won’t go into that today; I would be here forever.
But I’ll sign off with a simple question. What is it about Whitton that is so unnerving at 8pm on a match day?
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