Tiny Moments #188

Every time I have ridden through West Hill over the past twenty years or so I have been struck with what a prosperous conurbation it seems to be, the vast majority of houses being luxurious abodes which rarely seem to show signs of habitation as they slumber within lush gardens. You rarely see anyone in the streets and whenever I have stopped for a bottle of water at the solitary shop it is always either empty or being frequented by a child hopping out of a parents’ monstrous 4×4 (parked on the double yellows, naturally) to pick up something on their way to the stables. Today however I ride along Lower Broad Oak Lane for the first time and it feels like everything has been ratcheted up a couple of notches. Expansive established homes rest secure behind fences, gates and high grown hawthorn hedges, their presence merely glimpsed through cracks. A bay window here, a pillared portico there. Signs proclaiming ‘Private Road’ proliferate. At the entrance to one a sign suggests that down this way lies an opportunity for Glamping. Well of course.

And then, as if to reinforce the point that I Do Not Belong Here, the heavens open…

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