The Summer Solstice always seems to be more significant than most markers in the year. Maybe it’s because there’s something magical about the longest day in a month where, still, the (rainy) summer seems endless. And, if nothing else, it’s an excuse for a bit of contemplation – by which we mean boozy picnic.
So we always head up to Parliament Hill, as do so many others. Some years the evening really kicks off, a mini Glastonbury if you will: druids, drums, music, hundreds of people out celebrating. Last night it was a more low-key affair. A few groups were scattered across the hilltop, as well as smaller gatherings sprawled on rugs – and the odd couple canoodling in the long grass.
The weather held up, just. Warm until the sun went down, the wind picked up after dark, but our winter coats were on standby. And it was pleasing to see that, even at a chilly 11pm, there were still a fair few folk about, fortified by red wine and a quick raid of the deli counter at M&S.
Sadly, the light was pretty poor, so excuse the slightly moody (ie crap) pics.
