Regents Park is in bloom; the flowers have come out ten fold from when I was there three weeks ago. The roses save the yellows have flowered in their masses; sweet smelling Ingrid Bergman's take centre stage, the raspberry ripple and pink to yellow fade look fantastic. We picked lavender; or rather I picked lavender, whilst my companion took the piss out of me. I put it down to his inability to savor the scents in their full glory - he has a weak sense of smell. On route back to Kentish Town I/we paused to smell sweet Jasmine, I plucked the scented white heads and stuffed them down my bra.
It reminded me of a scene from Persepolis, a poignant film that charts the right of passage of a young girl growing up in Tehran during a time of great conflict, repression and political shifts of power. Based on the eponymous graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi, it provides an autobiographical of life between 78-94 covering the Iran - Iraq war, rise of the Taliban and consequent repression of women. Although dark it provides a perversely uplifting account of a woman who strives to retain her identity in such incomprehensible times.
