St James's Café

St James's Park, London

“Consider all this; and then turn to this green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy.” Moby-Dick Chapter 58: Brit

St James’s Park is hemmed in by the state. Buckingham Palace stands at one corner, His Majesty’s Treasury at the other (with Parliament jostling behind) and the Old Admiralty building at the third. Along its flanks skip royal palaces, with the establishment clubs reclining behind. Plumed barracks, and beetled and marbled warrens of civil servants fill gaps in the perimeter. The park itself is, then, something of a green relief.

At the end of the lake is St James’s Café, standing guard over the pelicans, coots, mallards, lunchers, strollers, and adventurers that lap the water. It looks pleasingly like the prow of a whaler. Or a locally sourced, artisanal spaceship that has just landed and is brooding and steaming while onlookers wait for a gangplank to extend. Benches and tables range coolly inside, and the coffee machine sssschucks reassuringly.

I carry a wobbly tray of Americano, flat white, and iced coffee, and we take position on the orlop decking with a view out over the lake. A tower looms at us over the trees. Is it the Treasury building? I’m unshipped amongst the greenery and I can’t tell.