2026’s saunter sans purpose proved the most spectacular and well attended Grand Flan ever.
We came, we flanned, we sauntered, and, unexpectedly, we conquered a tiny portion of England’s increasingly drab capital. Over one hundred and fifty immaculately dressed flâneurs and flâneuses assembled in the premised of Courtyard Wine Cellars, Covent Garden on Sunday 17th May 2026. While sipping champagne generously provided by Piper Heidsieck, they allowed the dozens of press photographers to capture their vintage finery while sharing tips on cravat knottage and veil placement.
At precisely 1.20 pm the chattering and peacockery paused for a few minutes, while Gustav Temple read from a key flaneur text by Victor Fournel: “Have you ever considered all that this charming word flânerie, so beloved of poets and humourists, holds in store? To make interminable expeditions through streets and promenades; to wander, attentive to what may chance, with one’s hands in one’s pockets and an umbrella under one’s arm, like any upright soul; to follow one’s nose, with no notion of haste or destination?”
After one-and-a-half minutes of listening, the flaneurs became restless and it was time to commence the Grand Flaneur Walk. As always, the rules of flânerie were closely observed, in that no destination was in mind until the first step was taken; and even once in motion, no-one, not even those leading the flan, had any idea where they were headed. Pauses were taken occasionally, to allow the multi-headed hydra of dandies and quaintrelles to catch up. A flaneur who falls back from the herd is at risk of being spotted by non-flâneurs and asked awkward questions, such as ‘Do you always dress like this?’ and ‘Are you on your way to star in a play at the theatre?’
The longest pause was taken bang in the centre of London in Piccadilly Circus, where the paparazzi photographers, numbering in their dozens, were very pleased to be permitted to take more photographs (one of which ended up gracing the pages of The Times).
At this point, still with no idea where we were headed, one of the photographers pointed out that the notorious new sculpture by Banksy was situated but a short saunter away, and might make for a half decent photograph. What would Baudelaire have done, the flâneurs asked themselves? Ignored the things the chattering classes were chattering about, or sallied forth to inspect for himself what the modern artist was trying to express? And thus we followed in the imaginary footsteps of dear old Charlie B towards the junction of Pall Mall and Lower Regent Street.
The sculpture had been well designed to make a decent backdrop for a group shot of dapper flâneurs (surely the main intention of the artist?), also providing a resting point after an exhausting four-minute stroll from Piccadilly Circus. Thirsts began to be mentioned, the group not having been hydrated since Covent Garden, and one of our number declared there to be a fine hostelry nearby, just across Horse Guards Parade. And thus, after a short hop up Whitehall, the doors of the Horse and Guardsman were flung open by the advance guard of the Grand Flâneur Walk. Into the valley of drink went the one hundred and fifty, as Tennyson might have put it, and there was a degree of pride glowing from some of the flâneurs when we found out we had managed to crash the pub’s payment portal by ordering so many drinks.
The next Grand Flaneur Walk will take place this winter; watch this space for details.
