This is my last night based in London. I’m squeezing in one more session of archival research before I return to Sydney. To borrow from De Flores: “I’m up to my chin in heaven.”
Today began in Bloomsbury with breakfast, a walk and my first “flat white” order of the trip (which served as a reminder of how soon I’ll be back in Australia). I got so engrossed in the manuscript I was working on at the British Library that I missed my window for lunch. Fortunately I had purchased a cinnamon scroll with that morning coffee. After taking care of errands, I hopped in a taxi and made it to Shakespeare’s Globe just as the doors were about to close on the performance I had a ticket to. I only managed a bite of the scroll before darkness silenced the audience.
I completely forgot my hunger for the duration of The Changeling.
As I moved across the bridge towards St Paul’s snow flakes glided down and a chill entered with each breath. I should have switched my brogues for boots and wished that the lace beaded sleeveless top beneath the trench coat I picked up in Paris was thermal.
Stepping from tube to platform hunger returned. I noticed a mother and daughter walking towards me. The young girl held her mother’s hand reluctantly and outstretched the other. As we passed she ran her mauve mitted hand over the body and buckle of the navy handbag I had done the same thing to before buying it from a boutique near the Campo de’ Fiori.
Travel is reaching out to experience the world.
This journey is almost at an end. Another is only just beginning.