Heath Times.

Sometime during the drunken haze of Rex Manning Day I decided that BFF and I needed to go on an adventure. Miraculously the text I sent her made sense and we met up at the time and place specified therein and jumped on the 210 to Hampstead Heath, clutching cans of coke and matching hangovers feverishly to our chests.

I love the Heath. Its vast green wilderness is a welcome retreat from the otherwise concrete London. We picked blackberries then leaked a trail of blackberry juice all the way home, we meandered aimlessly, picking paths at random, we ended up outside my future dream home, found a secret garden [more on these things later] and we stumbled upon donkeys and owls at the end of the rainbow.

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