|Oh I know its such a tourist-y bore. But its a delicious cliche.|
|The Thames River at Mortlake|
I like the overland journey from Mortlake to
The train tracks rumble so loudly.
We whoosh past allotment gardens
Roses- white and pink.
An artichoke bush!
And then, in the beat of an eyelid- a sprawling river with houseboats as colourful as flags; and a woman eating her toast on the river.
Peeking into people’s houses
“This is Twickenham”
“This is Strawberry Hill”
This is another place, and these are more people.
Travelling makes me feel tiny.
The Golden Ticket
I meet a tennis-groupie couple on the train, they were so sweet. They knew absolutely every detail about
The closer I got to gate 1 the more rain fell from the sky, and the more useless my mission seemed to be. As I neared the gate I was approached my a tall man in a beautiful brown leather jacket. He asked if I was looking to buy a ticket. Wary of touts that I'd heard of and being ripped off, I asked him to show me. £65 for court one. I was suspicious. But the ticket looked real and he looked sincere. This will only happen once in my life, I thought. So I followed him to the gate and paid him my due.
Pimms, Missing Links, and Henman Hill
Play, of course, was suspended.