Hello! So I'm settling in. I moved into a room and it's lovely, even if I don't know where they keep the ironing board. I know it isn't strictly what V.W. was talking about, but to have a room of one's own at long last is a dream. I bought a teapot. I bought throw pillows. I'm just so happy.
The thing I love best about my new place (apart from the 24-hour Tesco at the bottom of the street that has a perennial sale on the bagels I like) is the 210 bus. In London? Go to Brent Cross station and then catch it towards Finchley (and away from Tesco, I'm afraid). It takes you past sprawling mansions, through Highgate (the closest thing you're going to get to a village in these parts) and even on a real, proper hill. The best part, though, is the proximity to Hampstead Heath, otherwise known as a bleeding great wood at the top of the metropolis. I go there nearly every day. (On a vaguely related note: is anyone aware of folks hiring? Hah!) If you've looked out the window or, to my dearly beloved Southern Hemispherians, crawled out from that sunny rock you're basking on, you'll know Spring has been hesitant. I wandered down to get the starkest shots I could, but did notice that leaves are beginning to bud. I always forget how fond I am of Spring, but it really is so refreshing.
I do like Winter's contrast.
There are things I miss about home. People, places, the ocean... I didn't even realise how I felt about the latter until I saw it in an episode of Jonathan Creek (which I really shouldn't have been watching). I miss coming out of the station, walking down past the hospital and the milk bar that sells individual cigarettes to high schoolers, and seeing it, that reliable streak of blue. I didn't appreciate it. I should've. And so, much like affordable San Pelligrino's and Netflix, I'll enjoy the Heath while I've got it.
Spring is trying.