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.