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.

15X. 11th March 2022

I don’t know what went wrong.  I’m here now, piecing things together.  Actually not piecing together.  Working out what to do next.  Cutting things out.  Planning.  New spaces.  Different life.  Different people.  I have to do this every few years.  Different writing.  Different habits.  Not piecing together, tearing apart.  Separating good from bad.  Letting go … Continue reading 15X. 11th March 2022