Monday, 26th February
A dream of the ownership of a London bus, the old type, with a. A machine well known from memory. A dream of the bus being taken over by a child, a young boy, driving first gear, roar of engines. And the vertigo feeling as the bus does not make a corner, then barely does slow the machine, stop it. The bus has a photographic laboratory on the top floor. It is very strange. The alarm is drumming loudly now, wake up and turn it off. The Ipad alarm.
Gather the 'phone, the pen and the ipad' m the dark. Take them out, put them down by the Mcnim the corridor. Take a shower, the water is warm, the air is all cold.
That dream ended with a young child taking over the bus, and rolling it down the hill, and the dream will not let go.
The street is bitterly cold today the alley dried with the frost small heaps at icy snow, here and there, leftover from the snowfalls last week. It is really cold, there is a cold wind around the church, caught by the church spire. maybe.
At the bus stop, say good morning to the well-wrapped bog-cotton man , and dolores too. Dolores points at the bare head, the white hair, and says 'cold!". She is a believer in hats. A hatwould have been good today.
There are a few people on the bus, known to see, recognised from yesterday, from Friday. People known by sight but not ever spoken to.
The smoker at the station, cheerful in the bitter cold weather. Wish him a good morning.
And with a paper cup of fresh coffee, greet the man in the blue overall, the cheerful small man, who looked like a hedgehog once, when his hair was short and spiky around his face. Like a Hedgehog in a child's book. He does not look like that anymore.
and at six, the train. The weeks work is underway again, the Train in first light rushing through a frosted-white landscape.
A dream of the ownership of a London bus, the old type, with a. A machine well known from memory. A dream of the bus being taken over by a child, a young boy, driving first gear, roar of engines. And the vertigo feeling as the bus does not make a corner, then barely does slow the machine, stop it. The bus has a photographic laboratory on the top floor. It is very strange. The alarm is drumming loudly now, wake up and turn it off. The Ipad alarm.
Gather the 'phone, the pen and the ipad' m the dark. Take them out, put them down by the Mcnim the corridor. Take a shower, the water is warm, the air is all cold.
That dream ended with a young child taking over the bus, and rolling it down the hill, and the dream will not let go.
The street is bitterly cold today the alley dried with the frost small heaps at icy snow, here and there, leftover from the snowfalls last week. It is really cold, there is a cold wind around the church, caught by the church spire. maybe.
At the bus stop, say good morning to the well-wrapped bog-cotton man , and dolores too. Dolores points at the bare head, the white hair, and says 'cold!". She is a believer in hats. A hatwould have been good today.
There are a few people on the bus, known to see, recognised from yesterday, from Friday. People known by sight but not ever spoken to.
The smoker at the station, cheerful in the bitter cold weather. Wish him a good morning.
And with a paper cup of fresh coffee, greet the man in the blue overall, the cheerful small man, who looked like a hedgehog once, when his hair was short and spiky around his face. Like a Hedgehog in a child's book. He does not look like that anymore.
and at six, the train. The weeks work is underway again, the Train in first light rushing through a frosted-white landscape.
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