It is that in-between Christmas and New Year time.  Roughly three years ago I began this journal with a similar sentence, sitting up on that balcony in Victoria station.  I miss that time, those evenings, the romantic dreaming of far away places, like Purley Oaks.  I had to think carefully then to work out whether … Continue reading 168.  Post-everything time. →

The first day of a new era.  I’m feeling an odd sense of not-quite-euphoria, not because I think today’s brave new world of blinkered independence is a good thing, far from it. It isn’t even necessarily of world significance either.  Let’s not forget that we are a mere small island with an astonishing sense of … Continue reading 9.  Saturday.  (Passport to, or from) Pimlico. →

In hospital, on top of a hill near a common in Woolwich.  Who knew Woolwich had a nice part?  Who knew hospitals could still be so ghastly?  I’ve been here several times in the last week.  The department I’m being examined by has relocated.  It feels like there is a sense of organisation, but the … Continue reading 169.  The beginning of the year. →

Pay day so I’m on a trip out of London to the coast.  The sky is grey, the way I like it.  I’ve been making film of the Thames in grey mist, monochrome, still, noir-esque.  Croydon has a look of a mid-American city with tall buildings, straight roads, everything bland.  I could live there and … Continue reading 48.  Thursday in a country of fascists. →

I don’t do this so much anymore, so I think my observational perception is a little out of tune.  An aura of perception, as it was once referred to in an episode of Hancock’s Half Hour, unexpectedly.  I don’t do many of the things I want to these days.  Photography, cycling, I want to roam … Continue reading 173.  Tuesday, St Pancras again.  Writing with a finger injury. →

4pm and it is dark outside.  It hasn’t really got light today at all.  John is pruning trees in Earlsfield.  There’s a bird flu outbreak in India, adding to the general feeling of world pestilence.  My father is going in to a residential home, he’s mentally confused.  There’s not much to look forward to.  I’ll … Continue reading 87.  Tuesday afternoon. →

Returning to old habits, but I don’t mind.  I might even eat here.  I tell myself I need to buy coffee but perhaps I don’t.  Coffee can just be a treat on days off.  I could have stayed at home and watched films today.  I still get restless if I stay at home all day.  … Continue reading 153.  Sunday afternoon, in St Pancras. →

Starting to feel more normal.  Maybe coffee made me go strange.  Strange and melancholy.  I feel like I’m making plans, looking forward, and choosing to keep people at a distance.  I’ve become numb to the work situation, it’s the only way to be now.  There’s no point in trying to battle against people who won’t … Continue reading 155.  Sunday afternoon. →

The cold tap in the kitchen drips continuously now.  A scaly mark is developing on the steel surface of the sink, which will just get bigger, thicker, crustier until the building is emptied and demolished.  They refer to the process as decanting.  The phrase implies whole buildings being picked up and their inhabitants and contents … Continue reading 47. →