Experiences

My life has changed. Suddenly I am surrounded by different familiarities, different same faces and known routes. I walk to the tube station everyday and pass the different same shops and glance at a different same clock as I gauge my inevitable lateness.

Halfway up our stairs the window has some stained glass in it, and on Sunday I was going up to my room when I noticed the light reflecting red and blue on the cream walls. An afternoon sunshine effect I had not seen before, but that was part of this new territory which is soon to become known as everyday and familiar.

The other night as I lay in bed I listened to the buses hum with earthquake-like vibrations as they stopstartingly rumbled down the busy street outside. A motorbike, raised voices and the low insistent thud of some heavy bass. Doppler-infused life continued to pass by my window as I willed sleep to come and drown it out.

I have been there for just over a week, and so far it is good. I feel that perhaps I haven't stopped to take a breath, to get used to the fact that this is my life now. That these walls are the context in which I must now exist. I haven't yet managed to do any songwriting since I have moved in as the lure of spending time lazing around with people my own age has been too strong, not to mention the lure of going out on the town with only a short bus ride home to worry about.

I have had some gigs which have gone well. Each time I have performed recently I have felt increasingly confident and more in control, so I am hoping that soon, when I start to perform my own stuff (it has to be soon, it has to) I will take that confidence with me.

My saving for New York is proving to be surprisingly successful. I have an envelope of fivers which is growing slowly (slowly) fatter. Each time I add to it I feel a shiver of excitement at the prospect of turning the blues into greens and living it up in a foreign city at Christmas time.

I miss people at the moment. Namely my little sister (Impish), with whom I have not spoken in too long. I have two sisters, but only one lives close enough for regular viewings. The other lives in Abroad, and therefore is not available for coffees and glasses of wine. This is a shame.

Things are good. A little slippery, perhaps, but good. My books are stacked up on the floor and I have made little-to-no contribution to the house cutlery collection, but I am happy. Things will settle, and find their own rhythm, and when they do I will relax and life will take new shape.

Too Busy To Blog!

Brixton is ace. Our house is a paradise set in South London. We have furniture. We are so equipped that we even have little bowls to put keys in and candles to light. And rugs! We totally have rugs.

Things are mental. The temping job is better.

I have been out eight million times in the last week, simply because I cannot say no to the lure of red wine.

I keep seeing adverts on the tube for cosmetic surgery, which I find deeply disturbing. One this morning shouted "New Face. New Smile. New Body." and showed a picture of a happy lady, presumably just off the operating table, leaping for joy.

Wrong.

I have no more minutes.

Too busy to blog. I never thought I'd see the day.