i love living near my local park.
i love the crunchy leaves.
i love the little turkish boy who kicked my ankle going for his football earlier. i love the coffee kiosk in there that's part of hte Peter Bedford foundation's activities, for the disabled, mentally impaired, recovering addicts etc.
i like benches with their super wide bottie divisions and the groovy rubberised children's playground where there's always a passel of kids and parents and disgarded shoes and laughing and shouting.
in the summer folks were there, sprawled out. heads on each other, reading. chatting, drinking (sometimes special brew, sometimes water).
lots of scooters. some bikes. The posh French patisserie in the background. the rumble of buses.
the pleasing zebra crossing network that fans out of it.
just thinking about leaving makes me want to sob.
i'm not leaving, i hasten to add. but it crossed my mind and freaked me out earlier.
tra la la. see. fake hormones mess with me.
i'm hot all the time.
my skin is crap and i feel sick sick sick.
my contacts which have been soooo comfy make my eyes feel dry and bleary.
moan moan moan. i even bore myself nowadays.
lucky i have no audience eh?
ooo and now i can't even spell 'their' correctly in the right places. still, at least that's new eh?