The best of both words

I went out at lunchtime to get something to eat and took a slight detour through what I call the lavender gardens - some steep terraces with beautiful light purple bushes planted either side. It isn't spectacular but it is a welcome relief from an open plan office.

At the bottom they have cut down a lot of trees and opened up the view of the river Mole, where a large private garden comes down to the water's edge. A black headed gull was swooping 'round in the warm spring air; on a park bench a man sat with a magnificent white head of hair and matching beard, smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper.

It all felt very British and very safe, a picture of Middle England. And Surrey does that kind of thing very well. It is something that you can very easily want and loathe at the same time, if you are being honest; as homely as mum's roast dinner and as annoying as a National Trust gift shop. 

But later in the day, feeling not just tired but drained, I had a moment of intense vulnerability; looking at the trees outside the office window the world did that strange shrinking thing that is symbolised in horror movies by the sudden zooming in of the camera and a vertiginous loss of balance for the subject. Subjectively it was a narrow triumph of ennui over dread, when you are too cut off from yourself to feel afraid, almost hovering outside your own body and feeling dulled.

Once home I sat in the snug with a mug of tea and a blanket. The clock seemed to be ticking very loudly and I almost felt like I could float away. Its always good to get home when you feel vulnerable. I thought about that house with its garden leading down to the river. In my head, when I think of my perfect (lottery winner's)  mini mansion, it is like that; at the top near civilisation, with a front door that opens out onto the world, at the bottom the water rippling past in complete privacy. The best of both worlds...