London, city of my birth, and not a street in Zone 1 without a memory attached to it. It’s wet and grey and I’ve mistimed appointments, so instead of the gentle ambling and browsing that I had planned, I am dodging the rain and trying to dry out in small corners of shops, steam rising from me like a just-baked loaf.
This sort of weather reminds me of indoor playtimes at school, safety, and the promise of my Ma at the end of it with a Danish pastry. Bittersweet.
