Escaping the Melee

Friday 29th March

As you read this I will winging my way back to France.  Escaping the Melee, the madness, the push and shove, the hopeless striving for wealth, the overcrowded trains, the noise, the chaos of London.

I came from the country, the quiet rural heart of Suffolk, with nothing to commend it but a sleepy resistance to change and a prurience of its neighbours that bordered on fanaticism.  Everyone knew everyone’s business, and nobody was allowed to step out of line.  My mother had her unpaid spies behind net curtains in every house and I couldn’t wait to escape.

To London I ran, to the glorious feeling of freedom, of anonymity, of being able to invent my own history, of no-one knowing a thing about me.  A world of new opportunities, new chances, new ideas.  No parents, no teachers, no neighbours to watch over me, to regulate my behaviour, to make me conform.

But conform I did, like almost everyone in the end.  And now London is my home, for most of the time.  And I still like the glorious buildings, the feeling of being at the centre of things, a world city, cosmopolitan and diverse.

But today I am winging my way to France.  Our little house in Eymet, where once again I have re-invented myself, where no-one knows the mistakes of my past, where I can be free again.

Blogs may become somewhat intermittent, but don’t worry I am thinking of you.  Enjoy your hot cross buns and relax this Easter.