This is a very ordinary English pond: it just happens to be the pond that I used to walk to when I was about three in order to feed the ducks. It's in the grounds of Cannizaro House, and owned by Merton Borough Council - completely full, today, of families with very small children who were about the size that I was then. That flat more or less concrete path in the distance used to be gravel: I once tripped when running on it, and cut my knee open in a nasty sore gravelly mess. My mother claims not to remember this, which leaves me feeling very unsettled about the incident: did its importance get magnified in my memory? Probably not, because I still have, literally, the scar to prove it.