The most idyllic of feasts, Midsummer, was upon us once again last Friday. My wonderful cousin Louise and her man decided to organise a supremely awesome lunch in their garden, in order to honour the sacred tradition of drinking copious amounts of Snaps and
slurring singing Snaps-Songs. Traditionally, a May-Pole (pretty much a giant phallic shaped pole) is… erected, and danced around. We didn’t have any such pole, but figured those who really wanted to could perhaps head to one of London’s more sophisticated strip clubs later – surely there must be some kind of midsummer’s special edition on? Sadly, I can’t report to you whether or not this was the case, as I decided to forgo the strip clubs this eve for other adventures. Another tradition is to wear flowers in your hair. As I was making my way over to the party, I realised I had forgotten this crucial part of my outfit. Oh, what to do!? I stopped by a flower shop on Sydney Street, and as my usual luck would have it, the lady who worked there was Swedish, thus swiftly whipped up a very Lana del Rey-esque creation for me. According to “legend”, Midsummer is the night of the year when magic is most powerful, and the flowers are supposed to help conjure up an image of your future spouse in your dreams that night. Midsummer Nights Dream! Or Midsummer Nightmare, if you’re unlucky, I suppose.