I have found over the past two months that London is breeding in me a more descriptive inner voice; I sit at a tube station, inconveniently thwarted in my onward progress for whatever length of time, an inner commentary breaking down the world around into metaphors, lines and apposite expressions. A well of thought that unfortunately evaporates before I get to my computer, ironically a laptop that sits permanently on my bed (when I’m not in it). I try to carry a notepad with me wherever I go, but sometimes the narrative just doesn’t present itself, and I’d like to think there was some point to each little post I present here, whether or not it’s immediately obvious on first read.

The one good thing about it taking ridiculous amounts of time to get anywhere in London is the time you get for thinking and for reading. I’ve always liked to read, but never made time in my previously very busy and clearly very important life to contemplate, ruminate and fulminate. Not that I’m making time now, but it’s being impressed upon me and I shall use it while I can. Consequently I’m feeling very literary (which explains the added ponce in my writing of late) and am even considering – shock, horror, etc – that next time I got to the library I shall find myself some high-minded literature and classy poetry to exercise my soul. Any (readable) suggestions welcomed, my fellow connoisseurs and wits…

Tags: this'n'that

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