It is a half forgotten moment in time, a hazy memory that still haunts, an ephemeral state, unknowable from without. It is an ache in the legs that both beckons and warns, a siren call that tempts you to a world of pain and toil. It is a jealous deity that will reward only the most ardent but shower such favour on those proved worthy. Swain's is a hill in north London.
It is a half forgotten moment in time, a hazy memory that still haunts, an ephemeral state, unknowable from without. It is an ache in the legs that both beckons and warns, a siren call that tempts you to a world of pain and toil. It is a jealous deity that will reward only the most ardent but shower such favour on those proved worthy. Swain's is a hill in north London.