Camden will never be too far away. I just need to open my wardrobe or look through my selection of earrings. I suppose in a way I had
Camden in me before I actually moved there.
It was love at first sight. I was 22, at my belated teenage rebel time and I found myself surrounded by pretentious Goths, lost in time hippies, colourful weirdoes. Back then that was paradise. Utopia in London.
Now it is simply the place where I could blend in and feel comfortable in any mood, any outfit, any face. Camden is not the intellectual place where I could conceptualize complex theories and construct abstract voting behaviour models. Thus, not the office. The home. Wannabe bohemian with a hint of commercial taint it is exactly the place where my gypsy heart could float happily, wearing a life vest. Exotic enough but in the familiar wrapping.
Oh and most importantly it is the only place where I can actually stand shopping. Preferably on Monday mornings, not to avoid people, but to have my home to myself!
Camden is the living room of the house. To go to the bedroom, where one relaxes and dreams I head north towards the Heath. My Sundays were full of it.
And home is not a place you leave from, it is a place you return to.
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