Much in the same way that the Lido looked a sorry state on Saturday, Brockwell Park had the appearance of a once prime time athlete reduced to a 40 a day Beno & Hedgehog habit. All life sucked out of the old boy and little reason for you to remain after giving a brief glance.
The good news of course is that unlike a tar stained lung, Brockwell Park will be back to breathing a healthy outlook in six months time. Just let Mother Nature take her natural healing process, clearing up the orange stained edges as Brockwell splutters back into life come the Spring.
For the time being Brockwell provides a chilling solace away from the Brixton madness. The Secret Garden is even more secret than it was in the summer as I was treated to a private viewing. The tennis courts were long deserted with Timmy's Wimbledon dream for another year and the kid's paddling pool was drained of all life.
Bonfire Night is the next big date in the calendar for Brockwell, although after recent years when the yoof of South London have turned it into target practise (with me being the target), I may just stay indoors on 5th November.
Hibernating, like the park.
(click on thumbs to see large image)
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