This summer I walked from where I live now, to where I was born, to where I grew up, to where I was at school, to where I was at university. Stockwell - Charing Cross - Hampstead Garden Suburb - Finchley - Oxford. My own Trieste - Zurich - Paris, the itinerary of an internal exile. When I was a teenager I assumed that I’d travel - and far. Then my father emigrated, my mother died and my brothers moved abroad, while I remained here, in London. Now I realize I never wanted to travel at all, simply get away from - what psychotherapeutic geographers dub - my Family of Origin. How good of them to leave me in vacant possession of an entire metropolis, so that I could furnish it with my own memories, dreams and reflections.