Is it any wonder that trust has fled the world. I was almost looking forward to another few hundred miles on the back of a horse only to find that I’ve been eating it for the last few evenings in those fiery dark stews that, to be honest, I’ve enjoyed. Though, now, should I change my mind about enjoying them, should I be horrified?? There we go – I was hungry. This territory reminds me of Ian Sinclair’s East London mind, stuffed full of darkness and back alleys. And as much as making our way through this landscape it is often more like losing our way through it, as we variously imagine it to be Jerusalem, the Moscow suburbs, or Buenos Aires.
If I turn my head at all suddenly I catch a fleeting glimpse of Thomas Aquinas hard on our heels. At least I think it must be him. If it is him then he is quick on his feet, too, for such a stupendous mind and stomach, as he melts into a shop doorway. But I have to accept the possibility that it may be the local agents of the Colonel, driven from his homeland (why does he have to come here? Is this the place where all the refugees end up?), intent on re-establishing his empire and wealth in Acacia Avenue. It’s the shabbiest of the semis. The net curtains could really do with a wash or preferably replacing. I have the suspicion that he’s been given part of my pension to live on or perhaps he’s raiding my bank accounts – although if he can find any money in them he’s a sharper financial wizard than me – which actually wouldn’t be that difficult.
A dream from last night left me reflecting on the mysterious ways of memory. There was one of those London cafés run by Italians who I imagine came over in the fifties to escape the poverty of Southern Italy. One association was the little sandwich bar adjacent to Great Portland Street tube station: a tiny place where I used to grab a coffee and sandwich to have perched on one of their stools when I worked nearby in the early eighties. This is already pretty weird – the 20th century is beginning to disappear into some misty mythical past. But there is another café pushing its way forward but I can’t place it anyway real so it might well be the image from some previous dream. Did I read recently, that dementia affects 1 in 3 of those over 65?
I better write this while doing a headstand – will that help, doctor?