back in london

I'm sitting, sweltering, in the studio of my parent's house, surfing the internet and listening aghast to the sounds from next door. My parent's neighbours are having a birthday party for one of their children, and have hired a bouncy castle and hooked up a big stereo accordingly. So far we've had one major argument, a great deal of shrieking, and the crazy frog song on endless repeat. Could be worse, I suppose, they could be playing Coldplay.

My mother's cat, so long terrified by very presence, appears to be getting used to me, and now does an impressive, fawning wriggle at my feet every time I pass. This consists of her spreading her not inconsiderably girth so that it creates a kind of flat cushion from which, with the simplest twitch of her spine, she can curl left or right, stretch or compress, so that she gives the impression of a large ball of white paper unfurling. Progress.

Travelling through London yesterday was peculiar; it didn't dawn on me that I would have to use the tube until my train from Brighton was approaching Victoria. I wasn't really uneasy, but it was a strange experience nonetheless; I saw no evidence of bullish stoicism nor panic on the faces of my fellow passengers, just that same weary look I'm used to, which says 'this tube is fuller than I would wish', or 'I need to get home'.

Then again, once or twice, unavoidably, you catch someone's eye and look away, but perhaps a few people held the glance a second or two longer than I'm used to, as if to say either 'I know', or 'I can't think about that'.