Tempora batter. I’ve never spent more time on Broadwater Farm. Twice a day, 4 times a week. I’ve got to know what the front line looks like. Dead chickens, no carcass. Just feathers. Justine by Lawrence Durrell, lost in transit, somewhere between here and France. Naomi is in Paris going to a 24 hour rave, advising me from there. In two days time, I escape to Dunfermline.
I’m panicking somewhat. It’s never felt like this.
June 2013. Today I followed the flow of the Moselle. What a lovely park.
I take it we can all expect delays.
Cigarette in hand. Life breathes walking calmy beside the expensive game.
They’re re-paving everywhere.
Welfare loses sight of itself on an industrial scale