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. →

Sunday evening in a darkened tavern in the city.  Huge numbers of young people in groups of ten or more.  Some maybe have been to one of those conventions where they dress up as fictional characters, they look the type.  There are young ladies with brightly coloured hair, who talk about how they dyed their … Continue reading 10.  When less is more? →

I’m on the Brighton main line again.  I’d be happy living amongst the chimney pots around Battersea.  It looks like one of those normal areas, unchanged, with high streets and shops.  Living amongst rooftops high above the city is appealing, aspirational.  The young alternative drop out couple in Mike Leigh’s High Hopes could go to … Continue reading 95.  Wednesday, feeling quite barren. →

My first time back here in a long while.  My first time actively doing this – allowing time specifically to observe and write, be a part of a cafe society, hundreds of us flaneuring and silently recording.  I nearly did it yesterday, I thought about going to Victoria, the magnet for drifters, but I prevaricated … Continue reading 11.  Sunday at the sporty hostel in Greenwich. →

It’s hot today.  An autumn heatwave, one might say.  The seasons are still unleashed, unfettered, unknown.  That special time last year when all was quiet, paused, that time has gone now, forever.  I remember observing that guy here who reminded me of Melvyn Hayes.  It was enjoyable, stimulating then, I forget exactly when.  I can’t … Continue reading 130.  Tuesday.  Day off. Greenwich. →

I don’t.  It brings to mind lungs and other parts which should remain inside the body, shouldn’t they? I now have that flat, sunken feeling that comes after....   after what?  I still don’t know what to call it, how to describe it.  None of the commonly used terms feel comfortable for me.  Episode.  Meltdown.  Attack.  … Continue reading 154.  Tuesday.  Some people use the word decompression. →

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. →