Today I would just like to revisit this entry. Over the weekend I was thinking about geography, and how living in London does weird things to one’s sense of place. I still can’t get my head around just how vast this city is: on Saturday, on the coach to Snape Maltings, we seemed to be driving for ages before we left the city. It is almost as if London is it’s own world: back in Cheshire I could easily leave the town limits of Congleton and go to another village or town which had it’s own character and was divided from it by fields. In the metropolis I rarely feel that sense of entering another place: London just goes on and on, so that in a way it feels like it’s own world. Indeed, inasmuch as London doesn’t resemble anywhere else in Britain, it feels like I live in another country or even dimension, with it’s own rules. People behave differently here; you even have to think differently about things like space, place and travel, and you seem to forget there is a world outside London so that London becomes the world. It’s as if the very texture of the word is different. Although I do still sometimes miss driving down country lanes through the fields, London fascinates me in terms of being it’s own mini world, where there will always be new places to explore, as well as the strange things it does to one’s psyche.