Testimony to mundanity

Today, I walked from Kingston (or, more correctly, my front-door in Surbiton), along the river, to the centre of London- Trafalgar Square. On the way, with the river meandering along in no apparent hurry to reach its destination, I passed a number of picturesque villages, seemingly untroubled by the sprawling urban mass that, apparently, was around the next corner. Led blindfold to Richmond, I could have easily believed that it was Guildford with Kew doubling as the neighbouring village of Shalford; Putney could have, at a pinch, passed for another Kingston. Even Fulham, with Craven Cottage tipping its toes into the river so audaciously, seemed to be from a bygone era, back when the boroughs were but fields...

Hazlitt or, for that matter, any of my heroes (up to and including Gandhi) probably wouldn’t have even blinked but, for me, the seventeen or so miles walking that made up the west of London were a revelation. Importantly, I came to a realisation about stamina, namely that tiredness IS a mindset. I was so pleased to find this other Greater London, away from the endless housing, and so ready for the challenge of covering such a distance, all in the name of adventure, that I let my feet carry me...

Afterwards, sitting in the pub and nursing a pint of bitter, it was my feet that ached while my head felt absolutely fresh. Even now, writing these words, I am still fairly awake and, most importantly, I know that I am alive! As regular readers must be aware, I find the suburban condition so stifling. Given half a chance, I could walk down the A3, across the fields to Guildford, else, the other way, along the Thames, to Oxford; although perhaps not tonight...

I’m very happy. I’ve remembered how much I love the freedom of walking and my potential, with good company, to cover any distance.

... I do think I’ll take myself off to bed now, however; no point in any foolish displays of bravado...