Hackney is getting increasingly difficult to pigeon-hole, forming now a stimulating cocktail of dippy hippies, old school cockneys, new style stabbists and latte-sippers (I appear in the day tripper class of the last category).
A warm and sunny afternoon was enlivened by excellent blues from Big Joe Louis, an old-style steam fair, a 'bounding horse' balloon (as our eldest termed it), and enough rich food to make you feel truly sick (candy floss, burger, chocolate crepe, 99s, ham and cheese crepe, bacon bap).
We enjoyed ourselves tremendously not least because we felt so safe. There were plenty of large fire exit signs positioned about the place - the green and white statutory ones perched on top of scaffolding - so we always knew where to run if a huge inferno had engulfed that bit of the park with the festival in it.
However, one of these giant erections (pictured below) puzzled us somewhat. It was situated slap bang in the middle of the park, meaning it wasn't clear where you were exiting to. Perhaps it was sitting above a hole in the space-time continuum and you'd be whisked away to, say, Stepney or Florida.