Sign of ‘The Times’.

I never cared about roses until we moved here. In that stupid way that you try not to like things are too obvious. In London, the roses are everywhere — in every beautifully-manicured driveway, and every shitty, bin-riddled front yard. My favourite place in all of London (until I find another) is Queen Mary’s rose garden at Regent’s Park. Just look at these iceberg roses, their beauty is painful; it warrants ownership, and ultimately, destruction — I snipped a lanky one, knowing that it would die in my pocket on the way home, but did it anyway.

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