The great transhumance

It felt like that. I bleated my way between the house we were leaving in Hampstead…

… to the converted factory apartment down the road to Primrose Hill…

In London terms it’s nothing. Just half a mile distance and winding through some lovely streets full of gorgeous homes. And parks.

Glorious wondrous parks.

I’m a bit obsessed by that tree.

But possessions. Trolley loads and truck loads and sorting and packing and …. you know what it’s like. House moving is vile.

But we are done and delighted with the return to our favourite part of London.

And now I don’t have to worry about a complicated large woodland garden.

Just easy window boxes.

This ‘village’ is achingly pretty and amazingly quiet. There is no through traffic in this little part of central London which feels like the most wondrous gift of all. People on foot, people greeting you in the street, people beetling about like me with trolleys of groceries and stuff.

Cafes galore and the pace of life feels slower. Or is that just because everyone lingers in the newsagents for a chat?

But enough of London. And that trolley.

Tomorrow it’s back to the farm and a very wintry scene. And work. Proper work. Freezing outside work and reclaiming my garden. There is weeding.