This is a writing prompt blog, vis-a`-vis Ben Huberman,
Ah, three streets? The first is right outside that stately building on Star and Garter Hill. That building with the view that Turner painted, that housed all the war veterans.
This war is silent, but more deadly my dear.
The second is the street I grew up in Lammas Road Ham, because ‘Lammas’ carries meaning; I looked it up once, I’m not telling, just leaving it there like a clue in a Clue Puzzle Novel.
The third? Mmm. The third; I suppose it’s the last, and I don’t get to choose another? Then it’s Gold Hill, Shaftesbury.
Ah yes, I have been truly blessed to pass all these streets daily for years as part of my daily constitutional.
Lammas Road, which is just a moment’s walk from the Thames, and Star and Garter Hill, right outside Richmond Park; and Gold Hill, in Dorset, not because I’m nostalgic about Hovis bread, I can’t eat bread anymore, since it makes my stomach swell up since I had that nasty infection when I worked in that hospital typing medical letters and eating at my desk, because everyone else did, even though at first, I was disgusted by the behaviour. (How quickly we learn to do the same as everyone else.)
But Richmond-upon-Thames and the park remind me of home, remind me of my father who carried me on his shoulder and smiled and laughed all through my childhood, except when I was scared of the hoover.