As LA starts to swelter in its mini-heatwave, I find myself in the greenery (and primroses, and blossom, and out of sight, forget-me-nots and tulips) in my parents' garden in Wimbledon, and pondering how strange it is to think of two completely different climates (indeed three, if I throw in Santa Fe) as home. My tired brain isn't going to cope with that one: time to sleep.
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