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Seann Walsh on an unlikely nocturnal pleasure
Playgrounds are for children and that’s undeniable. What’s also true, however, is that they’re fun. Climbing frames, slides and swings, when approached with the enthusiasm they deserve, are a form of accidental exercise; that is to say, not exercise for its own miserable sake, but a pursuit of pleasure that ends up in the exertion of physical energy, which releases endorphins, which makes you happy.
Playgrounds, when properly engaged with, are a spoonful of sugar to the bitter medicine of exercise.
“We stumbled upon something wonderful: a deserted playground”
A few weeks ago I spent an afternoon in a playground with my friend and her nephew. In a prolonged moment of joyous regression, I found myself having more fun than the six-year-old for whom these things were designed. It was one of those revelatory occasions when, in some deviation from routine, one thinks, “I want to do this again.” And so I made that resolution, with full endorsement from my friend. But there’s a problem: I don’t have the excuse of a child’s company.
So, how does a bearded scruff in his twenties, with no familial or social links to any child, justify his presence in a playground? There’s a predictable, unpleasant and yet perfectly natural assumption to be made about any adult who turns up to a playground childless. However immersed in the activity he may be, he will always look sinister. And, of course, pathetic.
It is, after all, pathetic. There’s
a fine line between rekindling childhood’s naïve enthusiasm and plain unhealthy regression. But context defines everything. So what you have to do is to change the context.
An adult, alone, in a playground full of children, is a weirdo at best. So, you have to go along at a time when the playground is empty. I’m talking, of course, about the night.
I happened upon this idea when walking home with a couple of friends. We took a shortcut through the park, wherein we stumbled upon something wonderful: a deserted playground. Night is the only time when you can convince yourself, for blissful split seconds, that you and your present company are the only people on earth. Or, at least, that the place you currently inhabit is yours. The silence, darkness and calm of night time allow the imagination to indulge itself, freed from the commotion of daytime.
What better context could there
be to sit on a swing and just enjoy it? We were there for two uninterrupted hours, relishing every moment. It won’t happen again for a long time, if at all. In the meantime, we’ll carry on as normal, like everyone else, pretending we want to be grown-up.
