n unforgettable place is my late grandmother's bungalow. It seems to lounge like some care- free tourist as it sits looking out over the sea on the Isle of Wight. Only the sounds of joyful beach-goers echo around the beautiful gardens and they cannot disturb the rich tranquillity of the place. Here summer itself seemed to bask in its own isolated paradise.
Indeed, there was nowhere else quite like this. The ferry crossing each July seemed to me a journey to another world when I was younger.Such beauty was never found in my home garden but days went past when I would have dreams about the colourful, booming flowers that seemed never to fall from its upright and confident statuary or the never ending vines that seemed to swamp the garden with endless trails of annoying side branching that seemed to go on forever; but what did I know, I was a 'pure novice at this kind of thing' as Grandmother used to say.All I knew at that time was that place with the aromatic and scintillating aromas that were always wafting in the breezy, cool air and the sheer essence of beauty that covered the colourful lawn of grass before me. It was indeed the most beautiful site that I knew back then. Well indeed it was the most beautiful site; but there was one specific dark and evil looking corner in which nothing seemed to grow.
All it contained were some nasty, ancient stinging nettles, some brambles intertwined with no order but just pure chaos which just contrasted with the whole essence of order and neatness that was the garden's most enticing and attractive feature; there was also a rusty upturned wheelbarrow that faced inwards as if to protect the rest of the garden from its horrible and messy looks. Hanging over the dark and stanched filled corner was an old brittle tree, which grew nothing but more and more disfigured looking twigs.It had the looks of a scary cartoon tree, dark, discoloured as if it could was about to open up and start talking, this was what scared me the most! I was never told to stay away from the dreaded corner and as I looked upon it years later it came to seem to have been a figure of my youthful imagination. The endless sounds of the crashing waves, children screaming and the authentic smell of fresh and old seaweed drifting silently on the water's surface lying gently on the crisp soft sand just added to the soft and sweet surrender of that place.Many days I spent trawling through the thick sand as it brushed gently against my feet thinking about home and what life would be like without such surroundings I am glad now that I have these memories, as I know I can look back on then with great satisfaction.
I am without it now the place has gone but i will never forget this memorable place and it shall be in my mind a happy time, a happy place everybody should have a memory of an ideal place to see them through the days.
