Number 7 - A lifetime of memories
The number seven sits at the top of an archway, the inner corridor to the inner patio, dark and shadowy, its aspect has never changed. The winding steps, cracked walls, and granite steps still solid to the stamping of many a stampede of children. A place where memories were once made. Where Angel sat by the doorway, looking over the shoulders of a young painter, as he forged his root into the arts. Where women chattered away into the night as fathers sat by the tv's wondering when dinner would be done.
An archway which saw the tired boots of Falkland wars workers, of repaired submarines, or soldiers stamping to doorways evacuating residents during the IRA killings. A doorway which was the social hub during years of siege, where the nannies of Ministers gossiped of the higher echeleons, and children hid during their cowboys and indian games. Number seven, a doorway with a lifetime of memories.