Tuesday, February 7

 

 

I woke up to a quick reminder that this week does not constitute a holiday. I found a large number of emails that required immediate attention; from staff, students, Pixelache members, and people eanting to sell me things. I deleted the latter and worked my way through the rest.

I also read some theses, arranged some tutorials based on my reading, dealt with some issues on the MA course, and emailed Sanal to check that he had received my revised draft and found it satisfactory.

I found lunch in a Youngs pub called The Strand. I had a very special sausage and cheese sandwich which I found deliciously filling. It came with hand-cut, triple-fried chips that trained professionals had cut by hand. Had bearded men hand-crafted the sausages and cheese using wily artisanal methods? Yes they had!

Now I find myself in the centre, courtesy of the Northern Line. I look at the new entrance to Tottenham Court Road tube station, which now (I presume) also leads to the new Crossrail system, about which I know nothing useful.

I see a bus and watch tourists watching each other to decide whether to ignore the traffic lights or not. In a moment a Londoner will cross, ignoring the red lights, and they will follow. Nobody will die.

I will walk down to Foyles and spend an hour or so looking around. Then I will walk down to Charing Cross before realising that this will not provide me with a sensible way home.

With my Evening Standard in hand I will resign myself to getting home the long way. It will turn out that I don’t mind this at all.

When I get to Balham I will take a detour in search of fish and chips, then realise as I arrive that I do not actually feel hungry. I will cross the road for one beer at The Moon Under The Water and then cross back again.