I’ve lived in many places; I’ve traveled to even more.
There’s succulent London, with its trains and Tubes, it’s vascular Thames and shiny shops.
Or proud Leeds, Victoria’s finest just a skip from the limestone Dales and their gurgling streams and noisy sheep.
Or solid Birmingham, with its roads and its canals; its criss-crossing railways and chocolate factory village.
Murcia – that forgotten part of Spain, half desert, half palm trees… and a dash of Africa.
Amsterdam, so magic at night with its white-twinkled bridges over be-barged water.
And Toronto, so politely commercial and generously seasoned with the spices of the world.
All of them, so interesting and so different. And yet, most often, wherever I am, it’s ten metres square of the Earth that captures me. The woody or ozony scents, the insects or the waves, the sogginess or the rockiness – sufficient already for a world of joy.