Tuesday, May 26
This morning, less than fifty metres from the house, I begin to feel a fool for not wearing shorts. The sun makes it clear that it intends me to feel very foolish indeed.
I walk through the woods and over Linnanherrantie, turn left and cross over by the allotments. I walk to the bridge by the adult playground, which has two joggers pumping iron as I walk past.
I stop parallel to the iron-pumping joggers and photograph the bridge, which doesn’t move at all throughout any of this.
As I take my photograph The Lowest Pair continue singing in my headset, and I decide that The Perfect Plan constitutes a startlingly good album, while building upon everything that they have done before.