Regent's Park on Friday Afternoons

REGENT’S PARK ON FRIDAY AFTERNOONS

Regent’s park draws many people for many purposes. It is contained within a circle of dominating, mainly residential, Georgian buildings, sinister in their vastness, elegance and general plutocratic blankness. It contains, since 1955, the US ambassador’s stately residence, set in 12 acres of grounds behind high gates, which are patrolled by police armed with sub-machine guns (but usually police of a bobby-like cheerful demeanour at odds with their weaponry). Of course, it also contains the famous Zoo, of which the passing public may see, gratis, the giraffes. Once, you could stroll past the wolves’ enclosure, separated from a nightmare pursuit only be a wire fence. No more; the pack was packed off up the M1 to the Zoo’s country residence at Whipsnade.

Visitors to the Zoo fluctuate with the seasons and school holidays. But there are other fairly constant, and hardy, perennials: cyclists and joggers/runners. The former are of two broad types – serious club cyclists and serious solo cyclists trying to maintain fitness. Each cohort, like the Wheels on the Bus, goes round and round.

Regent’s Park’s Outer Circle is reasonably well-surfaced. It has a North-South tip, which makes for a fast speed down one flank and a cardio-beneficial effort up the other. However, it has traffic lights – three for pedestrians and two for vehicles. So progress can be punctuated by frustrating stop-starts. Nonetheless, we cyclists like this inner city circuit (9 counter-clockwise laps are roughly equivalent to the 40k cycling leg of an Olympic triathlon).

The golden-domed Mosque stands on the Western flank of the Park, just round the corner and on the opposite side of the Circle to the US Ambassador’s residence. Its being there is a curious combination of late imperial condescension (enlightened even) on the part of Britain, and Middle Eastern money. In the 1930s the about to be doomed empire decide that its Muslim subjects ( the majority imperial population) should have somewhere to worship at the heart of the Empire’s capital – so land was allocated by Royal command or gift. Post war, a long political, planning and architectural process culminated in the opening of the Mosque in the 1970s. It is vast; many thousands can worship there (women on a balcony). Its website reveals wholesome inter-faith and peace promoting credentials. Its Imam has written, intriguingly, on “Islam and Sex”.

On Friday afternoons, Muslims converge on the Mosque for prayers.  Some men in traditional dress; some not. The women in pairs, in Hijabs.

There is a contrast with the scanty running gear of the joggers of both sexes and the lycra of the cyclists. The three groups pursue their ways past the others with mutual indifference. Except – on Friday afternoons there is a parking problem. Mosque-goers (or their drivers, in the case of the well-heeled) cruise slowly along the Western side, often stopping without warning at the sniff of a viable spot. The lean and lycra’d cyclists, racing down the same side at high speeds (up to 30 mph) have to hit their brakes or swerve at the last moment, into the path of other traffic (it is lucky that on this stretch there is rough parity of speed).

The Zoo, the Mosque, the US Ambassador, the joggers, the cyclists: a strange collection of park-fellows; co-existing, but not much interacting, unless the Imam, or the Ambassador, is a keen cyclist or jogger; or interested in penguins.

May 2015