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Living in London, one often yearns for a bit of peace and quiet, maybe a couple of trees and the odd bird. Parks , which seem to the uninitiated like the obvious choice, are mere arenas of arseholery full of grizzling children and men taking their five aside football league too seriously.
Fortunately, because of our so very advanced societies squeamishness at, and inability to accept, the foremost reality of life; death, graveyards are consistently deserted. Moreover, social convention dictates that every visitor observe peace and quiet at all times, making it the perfect retreat from the blaring inanity of modern life.

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Another great thing about graveyards is the delicious sense of ruin, our pathetic attempts at permanence are mocked by the lichen, weeds and weather that we so foolishly consider ourselves to have conquered. Although Kensal Green is a little to well kept for my liking (I prefer the cluttered and overgrown Nunhead Cemetery), there are plenty of examples of ruin to enjoy.

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J Homersham, who often accompanies me on such excursions, likes to play a macabre and occulitish game. From a distance one selects a gravestone and then we walk towards it. Whatever the age of the deceased was, thats how long you are going to live. I always manage to chose one that was only a year or two older than myself and a over caffeinated panic grips me for the rest of the day.

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Although the toilets in Kensal Green look like the set of a torture porn film about toilets, I would recommend it highly. Its big, quiet and theres lots of great sculpture, and as long as you can handle the ghastly affluence of the surrounding area, I’d say it was definately worth a visit

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