tempus fugit

By ceridwen

Hampstead on my mind

When sisterly duty takes me to London I am lucky enough to be able to stay in Hampstead, one of the most desirable and well-favoured districts of the capital. For those not acquainted with it, the neighbourhood abuts a huge open space of high heathland, boasts centuries of literary and artistic residence and retains an enchanting network of steep byways and paved alleys linking beautiful Georgian houses and bijou artisan cottages with delightful shops and cafés where famous faces (of actors, models, writers) can frequently be spotted. (My own family connections with the area go back several generations but were rather more workaday.)

It's always pleasant to wander these lanes where the antique street lamps still shed light and leafy shrubs trail their branches over the walls. But for someone this domain of privilege has provoked this - surely satirical - graffito to remind us that all is not right in the world.

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