Park Life

 Yesterday I came dangerously close to falling in love with London again – but then I reminded myself that it was not London, that 'human awful wonder of God', that had stirred my heart, but one hallowed spot: Holland Park, the city's most beautiful park, and one for me repleted with fond memories. I had been having lunch with my old friend Bryan (Appleyard), and we spent the afternoon strolling in Holland Park and visiting Leighton House, with its gorgeous oriental interiors, vast studio and impressive art collection, a monument to high Victorian taste at its most Olympian level. But the park was the thing. This was the park to which I eagerly escaped on so many lunchtimes of my working life, breathing its air, seeing its sights, delighting in the butterflies and birds, the trees and flowers, enjoying the woodland walks, the Japanese garden, the remains of the big house – and the pigs and longhorn cattle that were occasionally employed to do some useful rootling and grazing. Holland Park was for years balm to my soul, a microcosm of so many of the things I love – and all within a short walk of my workplace. London has nothing else like it – which is why I am not, after all, falling back in love with the place.  
[More on my Holland Park lunchtimes here...]