(no subject)

Nothing to say since whenever.

Took a day off, but this coincided with an urge to just stay in and read the dictionary. Dragged myself out despite this, as days in are sickies and this was not.

Another on which the sun never truly rose. A seeping Atlantic drizzle that only a Breton could love.

I dived down the tube and went backwards and forwards, jotting down inanities. I dropped in on the new St. Pancras station and got train times to a foul Midland town I must visit for work in a few weeks.

Came back in the afternoon to a message inviting me to lunch that day. Bollocks.

I saw La Nina Santa, it was humid and I didn't understand a great deal. The intensity of Catholic schoolgirls and the squirting noise of air-fresheners is all I properly remember.

Another day off, and went to Kew, saw carnival birds in the furthest flung corner, courting. Meanwhile in the hothouses the jolly flowers were being assaulted by cameraphones. A louche man once said, what are orchids but an Art Nouveau representation of female genitalia?

Each day starts out with promise but the blanket descends before I'm ready. England for the most part lives under a Tupperware lid in pallid light.

(no subject)