Looking a bit awkward here - passers-by were staring! Today we drove into Christchurch - the sister city of Christchurch, New Zealand. Even the rivers that run through both cities have the same name - the Avon. Christchurch is one of my favourite places, and it's where a lot of my early memories are set. One of the things I love most about England is all the history, and Christchurch is a great example of that - the Priory is a thousand years old. I still can't quite wrap my mind around that. Every building, road and hedgerow in England is criss-crossed with myths, poetry, history and legends. You can read the landscape like a book. In a way, as a writer, this is intimidating. How do you write about a landscape that so many others have littered with their words before you, over thousands of years? I greatly admire the British writers who have brought something new to the literature of the islands, but I'm glad to be from a place that is still relatively new in artistic terms. Well, Zimbabwe and New Zealand both are (comparatively).
I explored the eight or nine wonderful charity shops on the High Street, and came away with a great haul of two dresses and a skirt. I'd show them to you, but they're in the wash as we speak - my grandmother was very worried about cooties. Or something. LOML and I visited the ruins of Christchurch Castle, and managed to take a couple of photos before the ominous clouds soaked us with rain.
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