The Power of Ealing

I took a walk tonight past the house I moved to in 1983, and along surrounding roads, where I have visited only in dreams since then.  I don't remember it all being so grand, but the buildings are the same, just a little botoxed and primped.  At 21 you tend not to notice buildings much.

There is Castelbar Hill where I was pushed in a supermarket trolley, coming to a perilous halt just short of the road, laying on the pavement laughing.  The large cocktail bar in a converted garage (which I suspect was called The Garage) that served goblets of sweet creamy booze with umbrellas on Springbridge Road, is long gone.   It's now an energy consultancy, whatever that is.

I walked across Haven Green at dusk.  It's been allowed, as have we, to run a little unkempt.  And we've been locked up so long the daffodils are now just brown shrouds.  To Tesco, on Haven Green, even though I don't really need anything.  It's well stocked for the time of night.  I have noticed a quiet but confident resurgence of toilets rolls and Lemsip recently.  Presumably because those who stocked up with thirteen 48 packs are still diligently trying to shit their way through them.