I’m restless for change, constant reinvention. I went to South Woodford yesterday. When we moved there in 1984 it seemed vibrant, cosmopolitan, gritty. Eastenders started that year, and I think I expected our new neighbourhood to be similar. There was an archway leading between Victorian buildings on George Lane, and two huge tower blocks where … Continue reading 30.
157. Sunday afternoon. Back at the old place.
I came here by the unusual fast train which only runs on special days, and only carries people who know about it. We are propelled above the streets of Peckham and Camberwell feeling decadent for a few minutes. It is a Bank Holiday tomorrow, so coming here today feels imbibed with the spirit of carnival. … Continue reading 157. Sunday afternoon. Back at the old place.
97. Sunday evening.
Spring is here. I’ve had washing hanging out today. I’m happy with the white wall, it needs another coat, then the floor and the radiator. I’m looking forward to light and space. I’ve just watched a John Rogers film about Hackney Wick. He made a similar film of a walk there in 2016, today’s is … Continue reading 97. Sunday evening.
65. Thursday, at St Pancras.
I got up early today, cycled to the sorting office and back by 8.30am. It’s a bright sunny day, warm but with cold air, I’ve found it positive. Haven’t applied for jobs. Have thought about jobs. Have made slightly cavalier financial plans based on nebulous optimism about my new earnings potential. If I do the … Continue reading 65. Thursday, at St Pancras.
129. I can’t remember when.
In St Pancras. People are so noisy. I’m increasingly intolerant of sudden, excess unwarranted sound. Noisy people don’t understand the concept of public space and respect for others. I’m remarkably tolerant of certain other things though. Dirt and disease, rancid marginalised people. I’m trying to enjoy a last day of free time, I’m doing a … Continue reading 129. I can’t remember when.
128. Saturday afternoon, in a London haunt.
Recovering from internal pestilence. Oddly, a week of pain and limited ability to move, times of lightheadedness through lack of sleep has catalysed clarity of thought, renewed purposefulness, practical use of time, being productive, feeling confident, being in control. At one point, the very worst stage, at 3am one day, trying to visualise different internal … Continue reading 128. Saturday afternoon, in a London haunt.
68. Sunday, GMT.
Why is that sodding Captain Tom Moore now doing sponsorship videos for Cadbury’s Chocolate? It’s so nauseatingly* wrong, and oddly like slavery. I’m sure it’s a front for something more sinister. Mind control, slavery or fraud. *The chocolate itself isn’t nauseating, it’s quite nice. I don’t eat rich things much though. A feeling of melancholy. … Continue reading 68. Sunday, GMT.
96. Friday afternoon.
I wake early at the moment, but get tired quickly. I’ve decided this phase of writing must be nearing its end. It has to develop into something structured (structural even?) and purposeful, hopefully with a sense of ending in sight. I’m never good at endings, which is why my creative output continues indefinitely. Multiple streams … Continue reading 96. Friday afternoon.
There's a young kitchen porter here with the voice and mannerisms of an emotionally damaged Melvyn Hayes. A rasping voice, manic jerking body gestures, clearly a maverick, tolerated by his compatriots. Plenty of people don't fit in. He's quite small, thin, happy, probably regularly ridiculed with affection, which encourages his manic behaviour. Melvyn Hayes never … Continue reading 41.
99. Only Tuesday.
The sun is bright and warm. I’m about to head out somewhere. I’m not sure where, it may involve the underground. I want to feel the sun, the air, be near water. Later, on my way now, just gone past Slough, on a very new train with lots of little green lights. I get so … Continue reading 99. Only Tuesday.