Sunday afternoon in Wimbledon Village, come rain or shine, is when families and loved ones take to the Common. With dogs. There must be more dogs in the Village than the whole of London. These furry friends are welcome in most of the restaurants, coffee shops and pubs, and I have yet to hear a bark, unruly behaviour or a doggie-fight; instead many sit plopped up next to their owners (seriously) at the table, or lie sleeping beneath it. Such well trained friends.
Lunch today at the Dog and Fox was a Sunday treat. Sunday Roast, enough to feed me for the rest of the week. The brownie, well, what to say about a perfectly made Brownie? Food baby!
The rain had stopped when we left the restaurant and I decided to walk home. Walking through the village is a beautiful excursion, past the quaint shops, Bayley and Sage, flower sellers and bookshops. Past houses one can only dream of. I love peeking into manicured gardens, or finding my way towards the Common to watch the same doggies dive into the ponds, scamper and get as muddy as possible. It will be the same in the winter time.
The rain in England is a soft rain. Gentle as the grass is gentle, and the trees and leaves are gentle and bending. On the ledge of a garden wall, I spotted the moss bobbles. Glistening. Something drew the to me, and I don’t know what it is exactly, but I loved the shapes in their simplicity, on top of a garden wall.
It was a good walk. A good Sunday in the village.