for some reason i was much attracted to the streets of the city as i traveled. it is not always so, i usually do not take kindly to the london mob, but i aimed for distraction, anonymity and company.
the latter i found in melle paradis. we spent a few dainty hours together, visiting john soane's house on lincoln's inn fields and munching on a late lunch on a west smithfield park bench.
chiswick, hammersmith, richmond and hampstead got themselves scrutinized some. and of course, lucky enough to be getting such marvellous spring weather. every day.
as the time of leaving nears, i promise myself to do so on a morning. yet each time i leave for home, i travel late afternoon. i blame it on lingering, but it's not practical. how to kill last hours then while luggage is being left at the hotel's reception desk, at owner's risk?
you catch bus 168 into hampstead. you have a good long walk, a good long think about impracticalities, and a good long cuppa coffee and a proper scone. in the sun. of course. next,
you sit on john keat's steel bench in his former garden, listening to the nightingale's chirpy song, imaging the man himself rested his weary buttocks upon the cool steel once upon not so long ago. hoping his genius rubs off some on your lonesome traveler's blues,
well. one can dream. i take you to the london streets.
