I've just returned from London, where there was work to do and curry to eat and friends to see. And hear. And while I had fun I also spent way too much energy fending off the bad psychic vibes all around me. From the incessant branding and advertising to the smell and the dirt. None of this is new, everyone knows London is all these things, but I didn't notice it getting to me until I had a psychotic need to tell everyone to fuck off about midnight last night. Not the best policy for Coldharbour Lane at any time, of course.
But the noodles were good (and cheap), and going to the British Library was as cool as ever this morning (they'll give me any book I ask for! The power is mine! woohahahaha...) but my god it's nice to be back by the seaside again. If I lived in London I'd murder someone in weeks. Or at least get in a fight. And lose.
In other news, welcome to the rantiest of bloggers, Mr Falling Carefully off the edge of any given metaphor. He makes us all seem sane and rational, so kudos for that.