(no subject)

The authorities are messing with my head. First disorientate the prisoner. I'll put my hand up to the 52 from Vic to the Gate, then the Central Line from Gate to Arch (though I've not a clue why that trip was gratis), but I just popped home to have coffee, change clothes, eat, what have you. I didn't taxi back to NHG, I started from the Arch to get to Liverpool Street. But my Oyster tells a different story. And the Oyster is never wrong, not ever.

That's not me I tell you! There - in the mirror, that's not my face!

On my way to the barber's yesterday I encountered a film crew - this seems to happen a lot in the mornings at the weekends. Whitfield Street, just a bit up from the fenced-in area where the Bangladeshi kids play football. Two unnatural blondes doing something unnatural to a motor vehicle. A Nissan Micra, so the nice fellow told me. Can't they do this in the suburbs?

There are two barbers. One has droit de thingummy, the other takes customers when his guvnor's already got one in the chair. Normally I get the other, this time they were both lounging on the red fake leather seat. Numero uno, he's even faster than his partner, I could have held my breath for the time it took to fill my lap with three months of foliage. Now my head feels lighter. And it's raining.

(no subject)

I don't mind the frequent sirens so much as the intermittent helicopters. High security processing for suspects usually takes place at Paddington Green, often with air surveillance for their arrival. The arc of the choppers' circling takes them right over my head. If it's not one thing it's another. There's a sense of relief when the thrashing noise fully recedes, but it leaves an imprint in the mind's ear that takes hours to clear.

Hopelessly behind the curve as ever, I saw 'Sin City' today. No-one frowns quite like Bruce Willis. Didn't Devon Aoki used to be a clothes-horse cropping up in shoots for the Face and ID, etc, in the late 90s? And Kim Gordon cropped up in the trailers - some Harmony Korine thing of course.

Waded through the humid seething mob that were sheltering from the rain in the British Museum. Not too many people manage to get up the stairs to Room 90, so there was plenty of space around the David Milne watercolours. There were plenty, I'll have to go back. On the way up the stairs I stopped off to see Ganesha. Pretty much everything in life involves a journey of one sort of another so it makes sense to keep in touch.