I was going to say 'hell is straining at the gates of Croydon', but it appears the gates have since broken. Smoke is in the air, thick and black and plasticky. Helicopters are overhead watching everything, and on one occasion I can see my apartment building, a grey-white quadrant ( Read more... )

I have opened another Book of Songs, since the last one has apparently gone irretrievably missing ( Read more... )

The shape of the buildings around my room windows means there is a sort of wind tunnel effect, and as a result of this the rain always seems heavier when it comes. The sound of drops of water tapping on contemporary architecture - glass, metal - makes for something lovely and familiar, the kind of sound to pray for when the sky goes red whether ( Read more... )

 So! The parents have gone back home ( Read more... )

 I know I will not dive into the world, or hitting it running. I somehow also do not think I would hate it, or particularly love it. I will slide into it and let it wash over me ( Read more... )

 So! Veron's gone off ( Read more... )

I admire people who are multilingual ( Read more... )

The desert is before you; cross it. Learn to enjoy it. At the very least, learn to endure it.

Hope, but cautiously.

Advance. 

 Thing is, I don't really know what to say about the London weather. It *is* true that it isn't what summer is meant to be. And it *is* true that it is ridiculous, ill-justified, and after a very harsh winter, just rather inhumane. After a winter that bad there ought to be some sort of karmic relief ( Read more... )

I like eating alone ( Read more... )