Strange how strange

Ten years ago I lived just a little way up the road from the youth hostel where I am now. It's strange how strange the town seems to me. It isn't that the town has changed particularly. I guess it's more the realisation that my memories are pretty patchy.

The journey here on the train from Liverpool Street was depressingly familiar if only for the generically grubby experience of being on a London commuter service. First there is the depressingly repetitive and meaningless pattern woven into the seat fabric. I couldn't decide if the blobby pattern was of a turkey drumstick, or a pig nose to nose with a mouse. Then there is the splotchy pavement pizza pattern of the floor covering, artfully concealing any actual pavement pizza. Finally there's the view from the window.

I'm glad I no longer participate in the London rat race. A little reminder goes a long way.

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