And there we are... St Albans has a way of ending a walk without really letting you leave it. In these lanes, a pub door, a market edge, a tower stair, even the great shadow of the Abbey all seem to remember the same old business: who gets to speak, who gets to rule, and who pushes back. Timber leans, stone watches, glasses clink, bells answer... and somehow the argument is still in the air.
You may have noticed how often this city works through thresholds... gates, porches, crossings, doorways. That is where people entered, traded, obeyed, protested, slipped away, and started again. Not bad for one small Hertfordshire city.
So head on with this thought... here, the past is not tucked safely in a case. It lingers at the edge of every doorway, waiting for someone to ask who built it, who passed through it, and who once stood there and said, no farther.
