work makes me think of long-haul flights, drink makes me think of food, a glass makes me think of broken, blue sky makes me look for clouds, being with someone makes me think of solitude, loneliness reminds me of love, and summer makes me think (not unkindly) of winter. not being a pessimist, but i doubt the new bougainvillea will make it to autumn, let alone through this next winter.
spent 3 days in lovely places; like John Soane’s House (more another time), like eating a cherry almond tart and a jasmine lily tea at a tiny cafe on church st, ricotta mustard toasts and a beer at Cafe Oto, like Abney Park Cemetery, like the bar at Moro, like the insides of many pubs, like london in the throes of visitors heaving as blood during exercise, somerset house’s wide courtyard gleaming in the sunny intervals.
so i’m tired. going to read newspapers, make a nest, eat carol’s courgette then find a mossy crevice and slumber like a large stone lion.