From now until the last leaf of autumn curls its way languidly to the floor, any day of faint sun will see London Fields going absolutely nuts. In fact, this shit will happen every day of faint sun.

Weekdays included.

All of life is here.

Five year olds arguing offside decisions at the back end of seven hour football matches. Turkish ladies refining their kofta flex. Gym-bunnies standing around in groups feeling their triceps. First dates breathing easy thanking the day for its grandiose stage design. Hispters getting their gurn-on from the night before. Smoke from innumerable disposable barbecues curling its way into the air amidst the plane trees and the pink blossom. Starlings circling up above, sighing, surveying the self-styled rulers of their earth baring their teeth at each other. The smiles of a sun-starved populace, if you’re lucky you might see a knife-fight, might even hear a gunshot, if you’re really lucky you’ll have the company of a dandy sporting the new Lemaire Uniqlo range walking with you side by side as you savour the cool lick of an IPA and pontificate on the excellent marriage of sunny days and the forgetfulness of mankind.