Old Father Tim's Workshop
I think that anyone who walks through Greenwich Park probably has their favourite tree. I kept seeing one particular tree and it fascinated me. The bark was old and gnarled and the trunk was a bizarre shape with a sort of a skirt around the bottom. I just had to include it in my story.
This is the tree. Can you see the secret knot in the trunk that opens the door? I like to imagine walking down the deep, worn steps into the workshop. It is lit by a warm glow and I pretend to rummage amongst all the shiny wire, nuts, bolts and tiny wheels that litter the enormous workbench.
