March 22, 2009
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People sometimes ask me if I want to someday work abroad and then look very confused when I say no, I've already emigrated. OK, so technically Yorkshire to London isn't emigrating with passports and visas and the like, but in terms of culture and outlook and opportunity it's a whole world away. It's a sentiment that often gets weird looks shot in my general direction but I Guide's-honour-swear it's true.
With that in mind, allow me to tell you how I feel about bridges. Specifically London's bridges (but really, any bridge that's not some massive suspension bridge). I still get a little misty eyed when I cross the Thames, perhaps because the bridges offer one of the few open-vista glimpses of London that don't involve going to the top of a tall building. In the last couple of days I've crossed Tower Bridge and Lambeth Bridge on glorious spring days, with the sun glinting off the water and the buildings. It's a bit like being in a long-term relationship with someone and everything's getting very humdrum and settled, when suddenly you see them off guard, unawares, and they look so beautiful and you're suddenly reminded why you fell in love in the first place. I love bridges.
I also love spring. There's a road near me that's lined with plum trees, so at this time of year it's full of fluffy, delicate blooms. Same goes for stretches of Lewisham High Street. (Who says Lewisham's a hole?) There's a carpet of daffodils near the back of Greenwich Park and the smell of cut grass is everywhere. Even El Mog has been doing what, for him, passes as frolicking.
It's the small things that make one happy.