It was bank holiday and I was alone and bored. I decided to go for a walk. I headed up to the park. It was breezy and the sun was trying to break through. People still sat on the grass, regardless, hopeful and determined. They read, they ate, they played football, they kissed.
I wandered over to Speakers' Corner. People gathered in little groups. Someone attacking Israel. Someone defending Israel. Someone pushing Jesus. Someone holding up a sign saying Don't Believe Anyone Including Me. I wanted to believe him but couldn't. Then I took a peek at Oxford Street but couldn't bring myself to walk it. It made me sad and angry.
I hopped on a bus, swept down Park Lane, around Buckingham Palace, past Victoria, and jumped off at the river. Big Ben struck three. I watched the surface of the Thames for a while, the boats, the ducks, the gulls. Then I wandered along, under the lazy Eye, past living statues and break dancers and busking musicians. To the South Bank where I perused the second hand book stalls. And where I watched skateboarders hop, jump and flip through the air, weightless, riding invisible currents.
I meandered. Charing Cross Bridge. Trafalgar Square (an Indian concert in full flow). Piccadilly Circus. A coffee and a muffin in Soho. Bus ride up to Camden Town. Beer near the canal. A friend came out. More beers. The top of the Hawley Arms. Feeling old. More beers. The clarity that comes from the fog...
Home.
Shit day.
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