On a belly full of coffee, toast and honey I decided to retrace the gallops of Dick Turpin up into ‘the Chingfords’, mentally and physically pedalling this picaresque allusion along the way. Little hope then that I would actually free my mind of the mores of more inner London.
In the forest garden sanctum it was not long before the sexual proclivities of Mother Nature were all around me in startlingly vivid analogue. A particularly fine specimen of a corkscrew hazel (Corylus avellana, 'Contorta') displayed its sexual prowess with pendulous vegetable grace. In a moment of strange temporality I was immersed in the erotica of this field somewhere between this
And now, nowhere near where I was, I will make excuses for my relapse by claiming this field student of E17 was earnestly studying the cycles of reproduction which provide Walthamstow and surrounds with ultra local ambrosial delights. Near to this site of free love, apian gatherings were in evidence.