83.  Sunday evening.  You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Borders are closed, France, Netherlands, Ireland, Canada.  It’s like the siege in Passport To Pimlico.  There was a train derailment today.  They’re becoming commonplace now and not reported.  Are we becoming numb and desensitised to everything? Monday morning, Winter solstice.  I’m up quite early, it is still dark outside.  Sainsbury’s is already open, with it’s … Continue reading 83.  Sunday evening.  You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

150.  Wednesday.  At that great Chiltern Court. Intolerably noisy.

I came this way looking for a northwest passage of sorts.  A next place, an escape from the concrete marshland, where the villagers are revolting.  I’m washing my hands of all their silly art school protest projects.  The rent increase is enough for me to turn my back on the place and look towards a … Continue reading 150.  Wednesday.  At that great Chiltern Court. Intolerably noisy.

81.

Sunday afternoon.  It is dark and grey, the vibe outside is one of Soviet-era hopelessness.  Dark grey sky, dark grey concrete buildings, shortages, delays, only potatoes to live on.  The last thing is a slight exaggeration, but food supplies do seem sporadic, mysterious fake-sounding brand names appearing on tinned goods, and fresh fruit is scarce.  … Continue reading 81.

64.  Tuesday.  Let’s see if I make more sense today.

I’m at home today, I’ve just done domestic things this morning, things I should do more often, but they are always there for me later, another day.  I’m beginning to realise how it must feel to be a housewife with no responsibilities other than a home to keep, as sitcoms used to portray.  June Whitfield … Continue reading 64.  Tuesday.  Let’s see if I make more sense today.