Its funny how the moment you know you are leaving a place you start to see it differently and miss it already almost before you go.

Perhaps because it was sunny for almost the first time this year, or perhaps as it was my first summer stroll through the city this evening I found myself loving it and missing it. I will always regret not having been one of those intrepid London warriors - the commuter cyclists - who hiss and whizz through the London streets against the odds. A cult unto themselves. I met a wonderful friend who is always able to make me laugh at myself, the most precious of gifts, for swift drink and then one of my most special and wonderful girlfriends for drinks and dinner. 

Afterwards I walked home, through the city. Along Poultry, down Threadneddle, past the Bank of England and along Moorgate. Even the names sound magical. They transport me to the land of historical novels, Grace Church Street as mentioned in Pride and Prejudice and the Cheap mentioned in every novel about London I think I have ever read. They form part of the mantra that define this city. As I walked along from Moorgate to Old Street I walked past the cemetery there and its pervasive scent of damp and dank sank across the road. Its a smell I associate only with English woodland and seems to carry in it a sense of stillness that moves out and hangs on the busy London street outside, I must go and explore it properly, with a camera, before I go.

Ok, sorry I have been distracted from the blog by a long conversation with Alex about out phat pad in playa and then bikinis for a music festival and bouncing ideas around about what to do for that. Inspiring.

Tomorrow I am in Paris for yoga with Ellen. I cannot wait. Recentering. Much needed, and now to rest. Better post tomorrow I promise.