The dull light, comfort of rain sucked me back in to London. Only a day but I have escaped the suffocating village to my beloved city.

I went to view a houseshare in a place I’ve never been but stole away the day in my new favourite haunt; Holland Park.

I recently stayed in a youth hostel inside the park gates which I highly recommend. Part of it is in a large Jacobean brick building and when there I feel so peaceful and back in time.

I wandered the old outbuildings and gardens in rain feeling like a Bronte spin off. It is my little ancient haven in London.

An old routemaster bus pulled up by Philimore Gardens and its millionaire, doll house, mansions. I leapt on the back as it pulled away in a Fred Astaire kind of moment.

The first pages of To The Lighthouse pass under my eyes but despite rereading the same page over four times my mind wanders.

I want my city back but it means living with strangers, living a lie. I thinly convince them I can pay the rent through my amazing circus career and not the tax credits it really is from this book none will read.





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