Emit remmus

It’s the spring time now, but you’d be fooled into thinking its a glorious summer’s day today. This lunchtime I thought I’d leave the office for a change (yesterday I worked right through to make up for an extra hour taken to go to the park with my 21-month-old niece, but that’s a different story) and pootled up to Lincoln’s Inn. I eschewed the Fields, overrun with Holborn types eating their sushi and expensive crisps in favour of Lincoln’s Inn itself. 

Sat on a bank looking towards the great sundial, I lay on my back reading in the mottled sunshine. The cloudless sky was a vivid blue and almost indigo through the half-unfurled leaves of the looming London Plane. The grounds were less busy than the Fields, and despite the abundance of lawyers, the stresses and cares of a troubled world could have been a million miles away.

I ate my sandwiches and bought an ice cream, and lay back to enjoy the late April sun, content that my day was productive, my lunch hour was well spent, and given that I’m no longer allowed to take lunches as paid overtime in the summer, I vowed that I would return, hell or high water.

All very idyllic, throwing the junkies and queens of Last Exit To Brooklyn into sharp relief.


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