I found a little piece of heaven yesterday. It's tucked away miles away in Kent, takes two hours to get to and the perfect place to disappear off to get away from the noise and hustle bustle of London. It's also got it's fair share of tourists, but given the effort required to get there, even on a beautiful like yesterday it wasn't busy.
I was free to wander along the paths alone, the amateur photographer I was with trailing far behind having been distracted by some rare looking ducks. With the wind in my hair I felt happy for a while just taking in the streams, flowers and willow trees. The romance of the place caught up with me and I played out some wistful fantasies in my head.
When I got back to London I realised why I found such peace there. Not just because it's far away, or the gardens and surroundings are wonderfully kept, but because I'd never been there before. Here in London, everything seems to hold a memory. The people, the places, the streets, even the food. It's not that the memories are bad - in fact they are mostly good, and some are amazing. But it's distracting. I can't look at, or even hear the word champagne without getting lost in all the associations it has in my life. My life in London seems to be one giant word association game :)
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