Travelling Light

Wednesday 5th November, 1997. 5:05 pm. At work. Cranfield. Getting dark. Desk, a light beech wood. This Digital computer has worked out fine for a Mac replacement. Battery only lasts one hour; used to last three. Slowly dying. In Wales (or is it at Wales?) yesterday. Somewhere near Cardiff. In Cardiff, the Arms park, dismantling; winding down only for the new stadium to wind up. All things die and grow again. All things already dead that is. M4, drizzle, driving, droning. Into central London, what a mistake. You always look at a map and never see the traffic, or even the traffic lights. And one way seems to be any way these days. Noise, noise, noise.

Saw her, trendy of Islington, remembered you saying that if a girl wants you to know something she'll let you know somehow. Good advice that. She told me nothing. Islington too trendy, too much choice, too the same, too much of the same, I'd be bored. Ford Escort, dark green, deep-sea green, but still a Ford Escort. Drizzle, mist, whatever; it's hanging in the air. M1 closed. Not often, but tonight. Working hard, worked hard, a job application to Brighton. Possibility, and life goes off at another tangent. Job applications the route to an imagined parallel universe. Who'd have thought it in job applications. Always at least two effects of something boring.

Did you know that cats can be brother and sister and have different fathers? It's all to do with the litter. Everything is to do with litter. Promiscuous these cats, more than two shags in as many days. After death, a cat. You live on an island, a tax-haven, somewhere that doesn't tax you even. Somewhere that bores you. Black Wednesday, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday. Money's gone too far, money doesn't go far enough. Hit the icon, the one with wings on - is it an angel?

May 1999