A work colleague told me about the "big chair" on Hampstead Heath today. The chair and table are dedicated to the loneliness of writing. First I'd heard of them and frankly, I like it. Better than the Angel of the North, anyway. Sounds familiar as I sit here and type up my play
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Actually, a lot.
Keats' house is now Enfield Town railway station. The Station House , alas, was demolished for a nice new concrete shed.
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well, I'd be up for that sometime soon if you are. Although of course, then it wouldn't be a lonely experience anymore ; )
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ok, I admit, it cuts a nice figure up there on the hill, particularly when you're going by it at sunset (can see it on train going to edders) but this one has more writing for me - particularly tonight. ; )
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"Thus, she spake, and all around,
her diviner spirit 'gan to borrow.
Earthly hearings hear; unearthly sounds,
Heoic hearts faint; and fall asound.
Welcome! Welcome! Spite of pain or sorrow!
Love today! And though? Tomorrow."
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