Just when I was starting to feel the kind of burn-out that only comes from lugging a large suitcase through the turnstiles of public transit stations, I spent the most melancholically wonderful rainy Sunday morning at a patisserie on Clapham Common. There is no happier time for me - rainfall, coffee, notebook, great pen, soft fatigue. ABBA's Winner Takes it All came on when I was writing a letter to my parents. Brilliant. I hope to die in a politically motivated drive-by cafe shooting on one such day.
Playing the poet for the morning hours, I returned home and collected the energy to run through the Common and reflect on my position in the global. Things were going bittersweetly (perfectly!) in the misty afternoon until I got a cramp under my right rib, which subsequently produced thoughts of "my life sucks" and "people suck" and "running is for suckers." So I'm fickle.
But I got happy again. It is my absolute delight to be staying with two of the hippest guys I’ve ever met. Their flat looks like one of those chic retail stores that have only a few items of tattered black clothing hanging between stacks of glistening coffee table books and neon plastic busts of old presidents. Couldn’t throw the look together if I dedicated my life to it. Retro/mod/awesome. They are both so kind and generous and have made me feel right at home. Last night we wandered through East London on a bit of a hipster watch, stopped for a bottle of wine on a patio picnic table, hit Islington for yummy Thai food and attended a party of Paul Smith folks (I felt tres cool). Tonight we are drinking tea, reading books and listening to the BBC. Amanda heaven. I might secretly move in and see if they notice.
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