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.

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.


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.