While everyone else seems to be getting ready to jet off to far away shores, I'm rather enjoying being a tourist in my own city.
It's amazing the distance a little river can put between you and some local gems. Despite having grown up a mere stone's throw from Sefton Park - which is just a hop and skip over the Mersey, in Liverpool - it's taken me up until now to visit The Palm House, a local landmark.
What can I say, I am filled with shame.
On a bright Sunday afternoon, we parked up in Sefton Park for our weekend adventure. The Palm House was simultaneously impactful and imposing in its presence in the near distance, whilst maintaining a grace and elegance. A real lady of a building, staggeringly beautiful but demur. Fluttering her eyelashes with her ankles crossed decorously.
The wild swathes of green pressed themselves up against the glass, lush and lively against the crisp white of the architecture. A barely-contained exotic jungle amongst the manicured lawns and orderly trees of the park.
As we ascended the stairs, an angelic harmony of voices rose like a wave throughout the plants, raising goosebumps on my arms. A choir was rehearsing for their afternoon performance, one last run through of John Lennon's 'Imagine' before the audience arrived. It was significantly more than we bargained for.
A large amount of the building was cornered off for the performance, but the little room we had to move around still had me gawking up at the ceiling in delight.
The sun fractured through the glass, lovingly caressing the plants and raising the temperature to a balmy flush of heat. It was another world, a secluded bubble in space and time and one of my new favourite spots for a sunny day.