A summer of fighting, fascism, rioting, looting. Teenagers are going to jail after stealing sausage rolls from Greggs. It’s hard to worry about small things like tickets when cities are on fire. Riots tend to be a summer thing, like Paris in 1968. We have a new labour government, but it doesn’t feel like a … Continue reading 178. Summer In The City
Tag: travel
208. Sunday evening at the hotel.
I’m getting the hang of America now. It’s loud, brash, fun, tiring, large, egotistical. All the things we think of it when we’re at home on our tiny little island off the mainland or Europe in a disparaging smug way, but all things that I’m loving and embracing while I’m here. People are open, honest, … Continue reading 208. Sunday evening at the hotel.
159. Tuesday afternoon. Back at Victoria. Seeking inspiration, not finding it.
The sun is bright, my eyes are hurting. I had the oddest of dreams. I woke at 4.30am this morning, with visions of deformed mice, a washing machine draining water onto a field, some young men stepping awkwardly. I thought about getting up and going to the river, but I didn’t. The fact is I … Continue reading 159. Tuesday afternoon. Back at Victoria. Seeking inspiration, not finding it.
32. Friday. Entering the sustainability week, apparently.
Down at the river. The industrial deserted parts. I prefer this section. Even though well used it feels abandoned, accidental. Thames Water, who own the section around the temple of sewage, tidied, surfaced, repaired and opened the path in 2000, complete with visitor attraction style infographic boards. Their efforts twenty years ago are still present, … Continue reading 32. Friday. Entering the sustainability week, apparently.
50. Sunday, a week later, in Greenwich.
Almost back to normal, in a good way. Lots of healthy young men about with their sturdy legs. The shop was too busy yesterday, too many volunteers, I don’t want to do it any more, not on Saturday. I felt awkward. Christopher with the amazing sculpted hair did too. He reminds me of Harry, child-like … Continue reading 50. Sunday, a week later, in Greenwich.
176. More of less.
Green Heart Hostel, Lisbon. Wednesday morning. Quite early. Yesterday was spent travelling. Trains, a plane, the Lisbon Metro. It has sensible Capital M signs at the stations in red, which are lit up at night, acting as guiding beacons to the stranger in town. My room is small, simple, basic, light. It has elegant European … Continue reading 176. More of less.
171. I’ll keep on fighting for the things I want.
I’m unnaturally happy, and I don’t know why. I’ve been singing all the morning. I suppose I must be delirious. Drinking. I’m going to Lisbon sometime soon. I want to write more, photograph more, live more. Maybe I’ll find an MA in photography, or do the MFA at the former Cass art school but only … Continue reading 171. I’ll keep on fighting for the things I want.
174. Sunday. St Pancras, although I was indecisive about coming here.
The train went over Tanners Hill, which is unusual these days. That’s the main reason I came out. Such a strange thing, but I feel slightly nostalgic seeing the view over Lewisham Vale and the fast run up to London Bridge. It reminds me of times gone by when travelling to work was enjoyable. Now … Continue reading 174. Sunday. St Pancras, although I was indecisive about coming here.
Andrew Stevenson 