So it's official. I'm slamtastic, slamublous, slammy, slamsome and mostly importantly slam-permanent.
Happily nestled somewhere between the wonderful Leather Lane and the delights that only Gray's Inn can offer, I've found myself a little spot to call my own.
This morning basking in the british sunshine, post pathetic run, Madre embarked upon one of her favourite Sunday treats. Stories of when we were young. Whilst usually I'm tempted to turn the invisible volume button to low and nod/smile where appropriate, my ears were pricked with interest rather quickly by a new story.
When I was just a wee sprog my Pa worked by Farringdon, talk about following in footsteps. Unbeknown to me I've been taken up and down Leather Lane heaps of times. Whilst I have no recollection of this at all, I love that the powers that be have allowed me to gravitate back to the area to appreciate it once again. In the past it was the only place near work for my Pa to bring exotic fruits in the bleak midwinter back to pregnant Madre, today Leather Lane offers a whole host of strange goods.
Amongst other traits (stubbornness, a mighty height and a hardworking ethos) I have inherited from my Pa, the one I for sure see on a daily basis is his love of rock music. He owned that afro and headband look, he wore the high waisted flares with style and introduced me to many greats that I still just can't get enough of.
Latest purchase made me think of him. And perhaps how he'd laugh at me in my Beatles t-shirt.
|T-shirt H&M - Paul McCartney bare foot, because that's how the dead walk.|