Back to the Grim

The pain in my legs reminds me it wasn't just a dream after all.

Back to the grim of city life, the contrast has never felt so great.

On my last day I went to sit by the edge of a lake, and there I stayed, gazing into the horizon made hazy by the sunshine. I must have sat there a long time, for suddenly I could see that the light had faded... but I didn't want to tear my gaze away from the quiet beauty of my surroundings, yet I had a train to catch. But I didn't want to go, God only knows how hard it was inside to find the strength to get up and force my legs to the train station.

I had come to the lakes without expectations. I was hoping to get some inspiration, perhaps. Instead, I found out that I had way too much energy to stay still for long, and I found myself hiking miles after miles in the scorching sun, climbing, and climbing some more - unstoppable, I felt. I just couldn't stand still. I felt that tremendous surcharge of energy within me that pushed me to keep going, and far from getting tired the more I walked, the more I felt the need to walk some more.

As I walked and climbed, my thoughts took me to many different levels, but the recurring one was more like a realisation. The realisation that the main reason for my inner misery is the city life. It never really occurred to me before because I'd always lived in cities. I was born and bred in them - and I'm not talking any city, I'm talking big, busy capitals. I've spent my whole life feeling like a prisoner exactly because I was born and grew up in the midst of concrete.

I was thinking about all this when, on my journey back to the B&B, I happened to sit in a full bus with young teenagers going home. None of them was paying attention to the beautiful, serene landscape that passed us by in a daze. Just like the kids of the city, they were being noisy, chatty and busy talking to one another. I thought to myself: "Would I feel so drawn to the countryside if I had lived in one from the start or would I have been drawn to the city?"

In other words, is the fact that I've lived only in cities now making me long for it's almost opposite? I'm not sure. Though I went to the lakes without expectations, I didn't expect that instead of inspiring me to write, the experience would actually awaken or strengthen in me the strong desire to live away from crowded cities.

In the midst of nowhere? Yes, I feel it now. I feel it so much I want to cry.

When I got back to London, night had fallen over the city. I emerged from the train station and instantly switched back to my 'city' mode - which really means walking decisively from one point to the next as though you're wearing blinkers. Fail to do that and you'll find yourself attracting all sorts of weirdos in your wake. Case in point: I stopped for a few seconds on the street to light up a cigarette and before I knew it some old drunk or drug addict was stopping by my side with an awful smile, trying to chat me up. I kept a face made of stone and moved on at once. But the contrast... my God, the contrast. It was as though I could, for a split second, make out the intense decaying effect big cities have on their people in general. Not to say you won't find loonies and drunks in the countryside, of course. It's just that... in the city, the decaying effect on people is amplified. And there's nowhere to hide. You can't get away from it so easily because you're surrounded by concrete and all these people - the equivalent of a modern barnyard. There's all the latest comfort but everything about your life in the city is synthetic, if you like.

I was greeted back home with smiles and a cat circling frantically around me. It felt nice, and I knew that my life would never be complete without them. My family may be small, but they're all I really have. Deep down, my heart was aching at the same time. I knew that my trip was again just a glitch... I was back having to face the grim of my reality, but this time I think I'll find it even harder to put up with it knowing that there are ways to live in this world that don't involve feeling trapped in the city.

Standing on top of the fells, looking down at the misty valley, I felt it.