Tired after London and it was a slog getting back with a cold half hour wait at East Croydon for the train home. I bought something resembling a pasty from a kiosk – the first white flour product I have eaten for months and months. Then when I got home I polished off the remains of a pizza Mr. Signs had eaten for his supper. No apparent ill effects, but I don’t intend making a habit of it as I have given up white flour products and sugar for the rest of my life. Apart from when I am in the desert of an East Croydon station platform and hungry. And Christmas, perhaps, but I have bought some sugar-free mince to make pies with (spelt, wholemeal).
Lovely and uplifting as it was to see the daughter and co performing (in a cavernous space underneath London Bridge station), and to catch up with my good writing friend whose book is to be published next year, going to the Smoke is always a bit of a shock to the system. I keep forgetting that this is now, and expecting to step off the train into a London that existed when I was (for some reason) in my twenties. It was my city then, I knew it better than the back of my hand and couldn’t have imagined that I would ever have wanted to live anywhere else. Now it feels alien, there are too many people everywhere and, quite simply, it is no longer my home.
I could go on and say something about roots and belonging and the diaspora condition of never really feeling oneself to be properly at home anywhere – but it is nearly midnight and if I go beyond that this post will turn into a pumpkin and it will be tomorrow with me stuck in yesterday. Not that it matters, but I'm inspired to have a bash at putting up a daily post. So, with minutes to spare, this is it.
4 comments:
You are busy dear Signs; and I am enjoying my daily read here. Though i say it in hushed tones as I am somewhat tardy at getting round to some other blogs. Though i keep reciting Cuspie's words of "blogging without obligation"
i am down in the big smoke next week. I am presenting at a conference. Not looking forward to it!
You really can't go home again, because it will never be the same when you get back.
But you already have a post subject for tomorrow.
Hey, I live in the big smoke, or rather on some invisible threshold, as I'm not well enough to go anywhere much. Still feel that affection for it though that I had when I was able to get around, something interesting around every corner, although it could all get a bit much sometimes, and wondering how it will feel when I can again.
A blog a day keeps the doctor away – isn’t that what they say?
Kahless, I won't breathe a word - so you can keep coming here on tiptoes (and without obligation!)
Zhoen, thank you - 'tis done. After a fashion.
Hi Marjojo, it's true that everything, seen in its proper light, unfolds interest and richness. Just not used to the Smoke these days. Sorry to hear how things are for you.
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