The red of a bus.

London has apparently had the wettest coldest snowiest and most miserable spring thus far since the last time it was wet cold snowy and miserable.

That would never do for us we thought, so we flicked the weather switch to "fine" and gaily wandered through Hyde Park in the bright morning sunshine, just as we had done on our first visit more than thirty years ago.   The sun was just as warm as it was then, although to be fair that was in late summer and just as then the deck chairs were rapidly filling with soon to be shirtless occupants eager to attempt a pinking of their torsos.

We are quite conspicuous on bright sunny days in London as force of habit forces us to walk on the shady side of the street, our Australian summer tans glowing the same sort of pink that those emerging from winter are displaying on the other footpath.  They don't understand the healthy respect we have for the sun any more than we can can find any empathy for their daring it to come and fry them to a crisp.