I realise I haven’t said too many good things about England.
There are really, lovely things, all around even, you needn’t “scratch the surface” to see them. You do however, need to keep your eyes peeled. And that’s a really gross phrase but I digress. I was talking to a friend on msn some time ago and she asked me, how was the UK? It must be really pretty. And I was a bit startled. I took a walk after that, just down the road to post something…it was bitingly cold of course- I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and hunched my shoulders to keep the scarf around my neck- but instead of staring at the road, or vaguely into the distance I actually became more aware of my surroundings than just the rush of wind against my face, the smoke from my breath. Winter means the trees are bare of course, but how could I not have noticed how their spindly crookedness formed such delicate lacework? Mist had settled heavily on the fields and the birds were well into their morning cacophony. I passed frozen heads of hydrangea, drooping brownly, carefully sidestepped a holly bush, all prickly with glee, marvelled at the bare brilliance of some winter flower with fragile golden petals. Near the junction, I peered into a wood that slept in a watery silence, strung with ivy and wreathed in fog. Then, I dropped off my letter and walked back, ponderously and wondered why I had not seen these all.
I have always known that I love London. And last weekend only bolstered my endearment to that Grande Olde Dame. Why some do not love it I have no clue. But I find some unexplanable delight in navigating the bewildering web of subterranean tunnels through which run trains with erratic lights. Puzzling over hand-drawn maps to obscure boutiques in unfamiliar locations. I find pleasure in wandering the narrow streets, beneath architecture from centuries past. Or maybe it’s just that it’s true that you can find anything you want in London. It’s there somewhere you just have to find it.
Okay lunch calls.