friggen awesome

Notting Hill

I’m sitting in our lounge room in Notting Hill: the muggy, sweltering London summer day settling down into a cool full-mooned evening, my hair whipped by gentle wisps of breeze and the smell of flowers and barbeque. Bowie on the stereo. Our house is all faded grandeur: a Georgian mansion sub-divided into apartments: the chandeliers are wonky and most of the bulbs don’t work, the garden overgrown. Feels like I’ve lived about a million lives since I’ve been here and it’s only been five or six weeks. It’s crazy how far away my old life seems: the workaholic go-go-go rat races. And while I loved it, I need to do things differently now. I’m getting what I need here, I have that feeling I get every two or three years or so – that feeling of leaping into the unknown. Scary and fun and unexpected and unsure. And the scariness and doubt is no less apparent than it was before I left, and I still don’t know if I’m pulling it together: but when I walk in the secluded secret heart of London or meet an amazing person or have a great conversation or see a band or a show or read a book in Hyde Park surrounded by squirrels or feel inspired....... I hope it’s worth it.