On holiday at home

Trailing along the path that leads to the end of the estate this evening, I found myself reminiscing about all the times I have walked along there and in such varying states... From the three in the morning wheel of the suitcase off to the city that never sleeps, to the passive subjugation by the Germans back in the summer, then there's all the quick nips home to see my family, as well as all those frantic rushes to the House of Commons in late January. Most recently however, it has signified trips in and out of Central London to see my American friends.

I miss them- they made the city come alive for me. Now I traipse along the path without purpose, remembering what I can only describe as 'the contact high' in the Dominion Theatre (I kept that one under my hat, I don't really want anyone to know that all the hypnotism with the squiggly lines may have had an effect).

It's very rare you meet people who make you feel life is truly worthwhile and, by implication, worth living but, possibly through a combination of circumstances: near-perfect weather, a range of things to do, my timely win on a premium bond... they did! I feel like I've been on holiday in my own city, a bizarre but welcome feeling.

I have so many wonderful memories: the zebra crossing at Abbey Road*, picnics in St. James' Park, a couple of hours remembering what it was like to be a kid in Hamley's toyshop and endless, endless tubes... Brilliant!

*I was desperate to make my title a Beatles' reference ('Happy- with a little help from my friends' or some such tripe) but resisted this urge.