![]() I’d stomp moodily through the wood to the Windmill cafe, sip tea and weep and wail and plead with the gods. Little by little, my attachment to Holland Park waned and I discovered Wimbledon Common, a mere bus ride from where I now lived. I figured my life as I knew it was over, with the best years behind me. I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. Why was I so stuck? I’d ask myself over and over. I’d exhale once I got through the gates, race to the Kyoto garden, throw pennies in the wishing well and pray grimly to the carp, wander around the Henry Moore sculpture and up and down the leafy, wooded trails behind the cafe. It brought me back to the me I once was: the me who had loved her London publishing job, the me who had shone, even the me pre-grief. ![]() ‘In south-west London, trying to make sense of it all – not just my father’s and sister’s deaths, but what felt like a total failure to make anything stick – I’d gravitate like a homing pigeon to Holland Park. This is an exclusive excerpt from Jini Reddy’s new book, Wanderland. ![]()
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