Remembering my Dylan days

Bob Dylan like character Joining today Podcast’s #whatsthestory. Don’t know how I missed this linky, but love the possibility of publishing some of my favourite pictures, with words! (It’s true, a picture tells a thousand words, but it’s still so hard to find the right ones.) Linking also to Jaime’s #magicmoments (usually such moments are all related to J Boy in some way. But this one’s just for me!).

I took this picture on my phone, during a stroll around NW3 last year. I was allowed “up to town” for a rare meeting. The meeting finished early, which made me feel that I had a few “truly free” hours. I was filled with that same sense of liberation that I used to get on a plane, incommunicado, technically at work, but some place where the office can’t reach you.  Nobody knows you’re left the conference papers in the overhead, and that you’re engrossed in Italian Vogue and your third G & T instead. It’s something I hadn’t honestly felt since having J.

It seemed the whole of Hampstead had decamped to the parks and pavement cafes, making the most of the late summer sun.

Suddenly, I formed the idea of walking to the Freud museum, passing some of the haunts of my youth on the way. Sadly, the museum was shut, but I came across this piece of street art instead, sandwiched between a Prep School and a Hampstead brownstone.

Dylan was one of the greats of my youth. And seeing this filled me with another wave of nostalgia. It ain’t me, Babe, remains my favourite. But Subterranean Homesick Blues struck a chord too.

Don’t follow leaders, watch the parking meters.

OK, the picture wasn’t actually on a parking meter. That would have been hard. A BT OpenReach box made a much better street canvas. But the patina of rebellion and teenage angst was still there.

It was a bitter sweet moment. Dylan, like London, had somehow slipped out of my life, gone the same way as my tight abs and Sunday morning lay-ins. Perhaps I simply had nothing left to rebel against, unless, of course, you counted a non-stop diet of the Tweenies. And, even not-so-deep down, the 40 year old me knew that a protest song about a giant soft toy would never hack it.

Still, the magic of my urban interlude lingered. Even into my post-baby routine. I finally got the guitar out of the loft and blow the dust off my record collection. Take that Milo.

About sarah

Old enough to know better, still young enough not to care. Property lawyer, sometime developer, writer and mother, coffee lover and cat-napper. I blog about life as a mum in North Wilts.
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11 Responses to Remembering my Dylan days

  1. fantastic post – as another 40-mumble who has devoted many years to childrearing I totally get this sentiment.

  2. Charly Dove says:

    Love, love, love this post Sarah, a really fabulous read. It’s great that this linky enables you to pick any kind of photo and just write about what’s important. Always good to reminisce. I’ll be doing a lot of that when I get my old photos out of the loft! Excellent post thank you so much for sharing with #whatsthestory

  3. Fabulous post, really enjoyed it. xx

  4. Erica Price says:

    Those child free (and work free) moments are very precious aren’t they? I often get them on a train.

  5. Jaime Oliver says:

    awww Sarah this is beautiful, its amazing isnt it the things that slip so quietly away however that fleeting reminder brings back all those amazing memories.

    thanks for linking up with #MagicMoment x

  6. Coombemill says:

    It’s things like this that make London so interesting

  7. Well done you, for going out and revisiting some things from your youth. It was clearly very liberating for you and well worth the effort!

  8. Your wonderful post makes me want to get out some of my old photos and reminisce (unfortunately they’re all in storage in the UK and I’m in the US).

  9. Pingback: PODcast | What's The Story? | 14th October 2013 | PODcast

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