For days when the bus is running late, the tube is sick-sweaty, and your day is bookended only by the overpriced and triple-shotted coffee keeping your twitching vision pockets held forcefully open, I extend an invite to my Imagination Station™... where you may spend the day instead.
Today, the destination will be a place in Devon.
And somewhere I visited once.
The scene is a small picturesque village pitched next to a large tranquil river. (Probs a chilled out cousin of The Thames).
Beneath a sky littered with 'gulls little sailing boats (and some biggen sail-boys too) replace all vehicles ever found in the smoggy city.
Sun is at super-strength and clouds be gone 'part from tiny scatterings of puff-balls strategically peppered in a coupl’a spots here ‘n’ there.
Where London commuters show only scowls, the Biddeford folk smile ear-t’-ear. Not discouraged by the balloon-animal making, unexpectedly-friendly looking clown patrolling the streets.
And even when they're not glowing you know it’s not long before the people will, as they pass perfectly planted street-trees and watch a local bagpipe band stroll past; their uniforms smart and sparkling - even more so than the day before.
The ground is bare of all anger-ridden city litter. Instead, only once in a while, will a small pool of icy-cream be dripped reluctantly from a kiddie’s cone onto the neat spring-cleaned streets.
Buildings are built not of brick, but earthy stone. Every wall playing canvas to a flowery basketed scene. Lit up by a beaded string of fairy lights hanging 'tween the leafy street-standers.
It is where the word delightful was born and though it may be only for imagination games for crazy commuters, it should be a location all road trips lead to at some point in life.
For you can do nought but be happy in this town.
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