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Now (as I get better at this) descriptions of pictures come before the pictures themselves.
The photo shop in Kings Road Hammersmith where I put the memory card on CD before blanking it.
Walking home from Hammersmith to Olave House in Earls Court. I had to stop and rest because of the pain, and as I sat there I realised that each house has an incredible number of chimneys, each in long lines.
Docklands Light Railway, on the way to Grenwich.
Cutty Sark on arriving.
Around the Cutty Sark.
Interior of St. Christophers Inn, Grenwich High Street, where I stayed.
Around Grenwich. A total washout as none of the brochures say you can't take pictures.
It was lovely to get home. A nice member of staff gave me a free cup of tea.
The common room was comfortable and I ate there. I realised that by using the portrait setting on my camera I could get the reds to look right.
I went outside to phone A. to check I was still supposed to see M. the following day, then took this picture of the exterior of St. Christophers. When I went back in, the doorman made me take my coat off, but were friendly.
Breakfast was in the bar the next day. I could only have tea because of my diet.
Next day was sunny, so I went back to the same places for better pics. The sky kept washing out, but I managed to retain the colour saturation by using the exposure compensation....yes,,,, not the most intuitive camera in the world -- but it works.
There's this visitor of Samuel Peypes in the visitor centre. I remember when I was a kid, I was instructed to do this excercise to demonstrate creativity. I had to imagine walking into a room and opening a box and finding out what was in there... though what was in there wasn't specified. So the point was to illustrate that the creative mind will provide the answer.
I have no idea why as I didn't even know who Samuel Peypes was at the time, but in my mind, when I opened the box, his original diary was there!
I had to walk back to St. Christophers to get a replacement bus as the tube was down.
Back at Euston, time to visit M.
She seemed in good spirits and we had a laugh.
Back in Northampton, there was a fantastic rainbow, really standing out before the ominous sky.
As is the routine now, I only stayed for one night, then back to London. This is a street performer in Covent Garden.
I stayed in St. Christopher again, but not the same one. This one was in Shepards Bush just north of Hammersmith, and I took various pictures.
Just a few doors away is a nice shopping centre. I bought more St. John's Wort, but a better strengh.
It was so strange. When I checked back into Hammersmith, Vito was in reception. We got chatting and it turns out we were in the same room, 310. So, he was in Olave when I checked in, by chance we met again in Kennsington High Street, by chance he'd checked into globetrotter, by chance he was in reception when I returned, and by chance we were in the same room in a 400+ bed hostel!
Globetrotter pool table, no, never played.
The full moon was on a Thursday. I had planned to go down to the Thames to put the magic in the river and release it, but could hardly walk. As it was, I went to William Morris. Every day without fail I've written the magic and put it in my hand-made bag which I've worn constantly. Now I sew it up on the full moon exactly.
Next day was Friday, and I planned to walk to the Thames from Covent Garden. First, breakfast in the Slough and Harrow in Hammersmith.
This was some theatre on the way to Trafalgar Square.
I really love this statue. I remember it was on the news when they first put it up. It's a woman who's very deformed and disabled, sculpted, just because she is. It photographed well and, I think, is an absolutely perfect piece of art.
Parliment from a distance near the strand.
It was the full moon the day before, this was on the 14th April. I went down to Cleopatra's needle. The day before I had sewn up the magic, here I threw it in the Thames. I though it symbolic. When I was younger, released magic went in the Serpentine, a static pool, as I tried to grasp things. Now it goes in the flowing river, as I want the experience of moving freedom.
That night I was checked into the Youth Hostel at Hampstead Heath. Strange bed arrangement, mine was on the floor.
Me in their garden, the last one's manipulated and I really like it.
The interior of the YHA. It doesn't capture at all here, but I noticed the whole room was kind of orangy red with occasional spot blue. I'm fairly sure it was unintentional, but it was striking... to me anyhow.
The exterior was even nicer.
And just near was this cheap cybercafe.
I found this trivial pursuit question in Shepards bush. The science question is: how many chromosone pairs does a normal human being have?
A: I am ABNORMAL as it's not twenty three.
Why did they use the word normal. Anybody with a varient must be like an inbred, retarded and weird. One out of three is ... not great. One above forty six is worse.
State bank of India near a Japanese restaurant in North London. It's an area favoured by far-easterns. Many to let ads in the area specify 'far eastern females only'.
Visiting M, muslims at the bed nearby were on a death watch.
The depressing picture by M's bed.
Muslim sadness.
M was told to lie down after an abnormal blood pressure reading. She stopped crying for me to take these.
Northampton Town Centre.
Coffee place in Euston station
The Albert Hostel, Kennsington.
You can see Kennsington Gardens from the hotel entrance. I was shocked, I'd always entered Hyde Park from Hyde Park corner, and Kennsington Gardens from Bayswater. I didnt link up the Kennsington name. Albert Hotel is just around the corner from the Albert Hall, and memorial of course. The first night I checked in, I'd just decided to give up smoking, so I went and sat up there with my herbal smoke, and looked at this thing. Initially I thought it was Buddhist, like a Thai what, then I saw it was caucasians. I never would have guessed. It's odd, because for years, I'd seen it from the other side of the park and, for some reason, perhaps the shape of the hall, assumed it was a Greek orthadox church.
I had 'issues', as I think some of it was celebrating imperialism.
Next day I was checked in at Bayswater, so I walked across the park. I went in The Serpentine Gallery, but it sucked, outside there was a far more interesting tree, falling, but it's lines weren't right either.
A bit further on is the statue of physical energy (?).
Ooooohhhhhhh, I miss me zoom lens
For the eight pound price, Princes Hostel in Bayswater, was surprisingly good value. This French guy from Borduex checked in, looking for work, we chatted about budget airlines. He'd just come from Picadilly backpackers, where everything is expensive.
KFC in Bayswater.
Back in Globetrotter, I had a view of the garden, and the attractive malting tree.
This is in the Kings Road, where I upload the pictures.
I smoke outside often because the herbal smokes smell funny and I get odd looks. I went out one night and the place was full of French drinking, so I decided to carry onto the petrol station. Don't know what for but decided a scratch card once I was at the counter. It won, so I shall put it together with a ten pound win that A. gave me, and buy some USB memory.
The back of Globetrotter
Odd-smelling herbal smokes
As above, with nrt gum... which I only took for a few days.
Coming home from Hampstead Heath, the strange area full of native jews and transient Far Eastern people, in one street the State Bank of India is just a door away from a Japanese Restaurant.
Prince Charles Cinema.
Bar, from the garden of Globetrotter.
Letter to Junko
The book from Sheperds Bush library, borrowed on a whim, but it's really made me think. I've taken notes from it and shall rethink my attachments.
William Morris pub from King Street, Hammersmith.
The last time I saw M. well, she felt better and was able to fill in her own menu card for the first time since she'd been in hospital. She thought the treatment had gone well and was looking forward to going home with the newly fitted electric stairchair.
Sainsburys in the Kings Mall, Hammersmith.
The reception in Globetrotter.
MacDonalds in King street. I jumped in there when I got a call for an interview for a writing job, which turned out to be nothing. I was feeling really nervous and positive at that point though.
In the restaurant, where I was 'interviewed'.
Kennsington Gardens, around the Albert memorial.
Watching the 'high class' twits, with their arrogance and superior insinuation.
Around Albert Hostel, where the manager didn't believe there are such things as herbal smokes.
On the way to St. James library, I passed New Scotland Yard.
In Night Cafe in Picadilly, again the manager had a problem with the smokes. He came in with a mop expecting to find poo, and when there was none, just looked at me strangely.
Kings Mall.
Albert memorial and hostel, some pictures altered.
It was a new moon, so I stiched up a new magic bag.
And rethreaded the mala, though not very well.
Next day I had a last day in Kings cross. I had been to leave and see M. the day after but G. wanted to go on the Saturday. On the way to Kings Cross, I walked across Hyde park. I saw the bridge where the original magic went in, the Diana memorial, which is pretty much where I walked home on that original night in the nineties, and then I went to the cafe on the Serpentine. All the times I was there as a kid, but never did dare go in until that day. It was nice. It was outside, so no one was suspicious of my smokes.
Letter to Junko... OK Postcard.
I went and had lunch by the actors' church.
Then I saw The New World, at Prince Charles. Strangely, as far as I could work out, it was a story about the difference between companionate and passionate love, which is what the Sheperds Bush book was about... and what I spend a lot of time thinking about recently.
I sat in Lester Square afterwards.
On the way to Kings Cross, there was a really strange, man-made cloud, but I couldn't quite get in on photo.
I think this is Northampton Town Hall, though I don't know if I was coming or going.
Northampton Town Centre.
Can't remember, but this might have been the bus coming home from the hospital, when M. had been very bad.
I cooked up a great imitation chicken dish.
Ah, that's it. This was the Sunday, the last visit to the hospital by myself. M. knew I had entered when I first went in, but that was it. I just sat staring at the wall. She was too ill to consent to a photo, so even though she wouldn't have minded, I only photographed the sheets.
Waiting for a bus in the road where the station is in Northampton. The bus stop is opposite a Thai restaurant, and memories of happier times.
Crystal magic to try and help M., in the bedroom at Anne's.
Tuesday I was sitting in BHS. I had an invite to go with C. and A. to the hospital. I phoned and said I would come, on condition that C. would be silent and not refer to me.
A. came to the hospital too.
About 1:30am. next day, a call came saying she was sinking, come if you want to. G. offered a lift but it was out the question. I told A. M would come to the house when she was free of her body, so I quickly set up a shrine, with a goodbye note for her to read.
Another call came from C. Everyone had been too late; no one had made it on time, she was on the motorway. The hospital called.
Mother was gone.
I returned to the shrine. A. put the blaring tv back on, but I meditated.
Next day I was to leave as planned. I destroyed an old school book I'd been meaning to get rid of for a long time.
I went and sat in Llyods before I left Northampton, in the chair where she had originally told me she had a possible tumour. I sat and cried for a while. No one noticed.
Then back to London.
I told Junko the news in a card, (though she doesn't read them now, I like knowing they're close to her), and my father in a postcard. He must have got it as the next day Suriya, a friend of my father's, phoned A. for the first time in thirty years.
I bought this charity thing before leaving town.
At the Paddington hostel, a sign in the kitchen wasn't meant personally.
Ravenscourt park, it was really sunny the next day and I went back to Globetrotter to dump off most of my stuff before leaving.
It was a signing day, for unemployment I mean, and also an election, my post urged me to vote labour. I didn't vote. I decided as a twelve year old never to, when I realised how much I hate England and don't belong to it.
A. said she wouldn't go to the funeral, so I left a note for M. in St. James Church, Picadilly, and then had a really nice coffee next door.
... and in the evening, sat in Lester Square.
Click the following for full size images of the better/most significant pictures
M., the last time she was well.
Card to Junko 1
Card to Junko 2
Card to Junko 3
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Sunday 16thish of April 2006, sevenish at nightish
In a cybercafe outside Earl's Court Underground Station
Nope. Came home.
Same Day
Albert Hostel, Queens Gate, Kennsington
Do you like the new format? This is a lovely place I've checked into, unfortunately only for one night. Very pleasent sitting area, bags of character.
I'm trying to think what I did since I was up Kensal Green. Well... I moved to Shepards Bush, at the St. Christophers there. It was nice enough and I really liked the area. I was only there one night. I walk and walk and walk sometimes and I have to rest to get over things.
I checked into Globetrotter. Vito was in reception and came and said hello. We chatted for a bit, then went upstairs to find my room. It turned out that we were in the same room. It's weird, it was coincidence after coincidence with this guy.
He'd had a two day job going up north to cater at a wedding. It didn't sound like he'd particularly enjoyed it and had already decided to leave next to Poland the next day. He told me about his time in Canada. His sister still lives there and married some man whom is tough and only cares about money, apparently.
He has been offered a job, with training, in pharmacology, which is actually his training. He said he might come back. We got on quite well. Usually when I meet someone, I'm trying to find ways to get away. I could make him laugh really easily and he never asked too many questions of me. He gave me biscuits and noodles as a going away gift. When I awoke in the morning he was gone and I missed him a little.
I applied for about fifteen jobs, data input, journalist, writer, magazine editor, designer, typist, audiotypist, anything. I never get called for interview. I was only interested in one anyway. I just do it because it's a requirement of the job centre. I never heard back from them concerning my benefit claim, but there's probably a letter waiting for me in Hammersmith.
I went to see M. She was sleeping with a towel round her head. I woke her and she said hello. She was crying the whole time but wouldn't say what was wrong. The registrar came to take her blood pressure, and said there was no reading and that she was to lie down. She did so, and kept asking me to tell A., or to ask her rather, if she's made contact; she'll know what she means.
I got back and sat in Edwards until it was busy, then bussed back. I sat at the table and actually spoke to A. She said she noticed I've been very different since I started taking the St. John's Wort. The 'contact' bit is because M wants stock of everything she owns and then to speak to Scott the solicitor, so G. has to get all the papers sorted out.
G. didn't speak to A. for two weeks, I think they're on bad terms. I asked why and she said because he contacted her asking if he could get moving on sorting out the disposal of M's affairs. A. said no because it was neither his place nor his business. This might go back to the phonecall where I ended up in tears. He pressured her to lean on me. I recall her saying, in reference to me, 'well he's always been like that'.
Whatever. The computer's free here. There's loads more. Perhaps I'll write later.
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Easter Monday 17th April 2006
London House Hotel, Kennsington Square Gardens, London W2
I don't believe it; another free computer! How many hotels have I stayed in London now?
Anyway. I checked out of Albert; it was a good place, just around the corner from the Royal Albert hall and memorial. I was shocked when I went past it that night. All the times I've been in Hyde Park and Kennsington Gardens and I had no idea it was so close; I'd seen it from a distance a few times and assumed it was a church.
I walked across the park. I popped in the Serpentine Gallery; like most things to see in London, photography is banned so I only walked round quick, then left.
I went up to Kennsington Palace and had a think on a few benches as I was in pain and tired. Believe this or not, but I had my last ciggerette in Northampton Train Station, so I don't know if I'm defo giving up. I have some nrt gum and herbal smokes, so it's not so different, just cheaper at the moment.
I came and checked in, then went out to the Whiteleys centre for a coffee. All the staff are different, of course. The shops were closed because it's Easter, so I went to Sainsburys Local, then walked past Leinster for old times sakes. Guess who I saw through the window? Mick the guitarist! Loser; why's he still there? I notice from their web page that it's all changed now. They refurbished it, put new pics up, made it 'no over 35's' and their ratings went right up. A bit different to 639, last I was there, old people on benefits were walking round checking for returned coins on vending machines; no one notices but me, and only the long-term poor do such a thing.
So I booked somewhere in the next street for tomorrow night; that way I can hang around Bayswater in the day. I actually don't know if I want to. I mean, after checking in here, I went back to Kennsington Gardens and sat on a bench with my herbal smoke and gum. I was joined by two family outings. An Asian kid had a deformed face and I guessed from the way they were speaking to the children that they were carers.
But I'm always on a downer when I come over this way now. I said it before; it's stupid because I never had any friends here. I lived around people and knew thier names and stories and they knew my name and not my story, and now there are just new people.
I always think of the same thing when I go to Kennsington Gardens now; I think of that original long piece of magic. There's a saying; 'be realistic; demand the impossible', but is that right? I'm not saying if it is or isn't, I'm just saying I don't know.
I think there are advantages and disadvantages to getting older. One advantage is that you realise that all the people you envied in the media and tried to be like, you don't actually want to be. Some things are fun to fantasise only, and some things are fun to dream about and then achieve, but it takes a bit of life experience, of seeing and feeling how the other half live, to realise the things that you don't want, and the people that you don't want to be.
And perhaps you have to accept some faults of your soul? I mean, I dedicated my life to trying to help myself and be what I can be, but perhaps there are core parts of our being that we cannot change? Again, I'm not saying it's deifinitely the case, but it might be. Sometimes there are long-running descrepencies between the things we want and the ways we act, and perhaps we act that way to push things away and protect ourselves because when we achieved things in the past it hurt, but as much as you keep pushing, you never stop wanting.
It's all about Junko of course. I KNOW this is stupid, nuts and all of that jazz. Is that the first time I ever said 'jazz' in my diary? I can't help the thoughts. A memory comes back into my mind and I just feel, just recall how different it was to be there, how happy, how different, I don't know, but I'm here and not fluid and I can't be anyone else and she's moved on and I can never know anyone like that but I think, I recall and it was a non-sustainable thing, and it's stupid and it was so different and happy and I don't know if I only want to think of that time or never think again and now everything falls and I don't know what I will do or how I would ever be happy if happy was a little two weeks in a long, dark life and I wonder if anyone else lives like this and I want to stop the thoughts and I want to stop thinking and I want to stop being be and sometimes I sit under a tree in Kennsington gardens all alone for ever and recall a time in a park where she sat with me and all this time later I sit alone and just bow my head and cry and it does no good but I don't know what to do and I've had enough and I don't like being with anyone else and perhaps if I hadn't have gone there I wouldn't have known what I wanted and it could exist, or perhaps I would have got tired without knowing someone was there somehow, but most of all I'm tired. I can't even be bothered to say all the other jazz that goes on. I'm going upstairs to lie in a room with strangers and not so much happening tomorrow.
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Sunday 23rd April 2006, just gone 12am.
Globetrotter, Hammersmith, London
OK, update. Not so much really... I think. I came here to Globe on tues. and have been here since. Applied a million jobs. Chatted a bit with the staff, but not much. Emma said I might get put on monthly rates, which would be cheaper in the summer. The weather picked up these last couple of days and made me feel a bit better. To be honest it's weird, the way I feel.
I kind of gave up smoking on Easter Sunday; last smoke at Northampton railway station, and sort of decided on the way down I might keep to it. I had some herbal things that I smoked, and took nicotine gum. I stopped the gum a couple of days ago... but I feel weird. I mean, wildly changing minute to minute. It feels like I'm dreaming all the time, even when I'm in physical pain, but this is normal now, it's been that way over a year. Just sometimes, it's hard to explain, not sometimes, often. Worst is lying in bed. I feel like, just so bad, emotionally. I want to get up but I don't and for what?
Yesterday two people I applied for jobs contacted me. One is a new Asian magazine; I sent a CV as I didn't really have the experience that they are looking for, but I said I would like to do a tailored astrology column, and I got an email saying that this is exactly what they want. So I have a deadline of next tuesday to get something to them.
The other thing is a restaurant chain. The job is writing press releases... and something. I'm not even sure plus I have almost no clothes. I'm up for it though. Just rest today, and most of tomorrow if poss. I think. I've done far too much and need to rest the pain off.
I went to see M. today. She was well. Mrs. Popperwell has left and she kind of misses her; and managed to have her hair cut, Barbara's I mean. There were knew people in but no gossip. The chairlift should be fitted this week and she would be home on Wednesday, or from that date at least.
She seemed happy I suppose. She managed to do her own menus, and so I suppose that's something. They put a 'reserved' sign on her zimmerframe so it doesn't get moved and she can take it home with her. I am still shocked when I look at her sometimes, that the deterioration was so fast; basically from the day she entered hospital (????);;;;;;;; no, that's it *actually* (see what you please).
I got an email from the hostelbooking place, the one I chose for my birthday has unexpectedly closed down, so I've had to go to this Georgian mansion type hostel now. Better than London though, I guess.
I didn't tell anyone about Portugal yet; I feel guilty but I can't help it; I have to go.
But now.... I'm off to bed. Very tired, actually, though it takes so long to sleep for the pain.
Don't whine!
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Tuesday 25th April 2006, about 12:30am
Globetrotter, Hammersmith.
Not so much news, but not so long since I wrote. I've been here the whole time, at Globe, my mood varies in wild and frightening ways, with a very distressing link to the weather,
These are the applications from last week. I had some result. A new Asian magazine asked me to write some astrology, so that's what I've done today; I should know soon. Also I got some calls about, did I say, the position of food journalist. I went to that interview today; it was in a restaurant in Kings Street; ironically I was just passing the methodist church nearby when I got the call.
It was a young man; he came across as nervous, distracted and inexperienced. Basically (I hate that word), his family have a chain of restaurants, they want someone to market them. He has a letter to the residents around the first restaurant, offering them a discount. He wants this edited. Then he wants a press release, he's already written it. He wants alternative ones, which he puts with my cv and forwards to new clients, so it kind of turns into a PA firm.
But it sounds ever so patchy. I don't know. It's like he doesn't know what he's doing. He's going to send over some press releases, and I will have to mark them or something, but money wasn't mentioned.
I'm thinking of making a 'Helm Portal' for the magic. Thursday will be two months exactly, which is about when you'd expect things to start happening. I have three nights in Albert, with an occasional free computer, I must spend the time there finishing this, finalising, to get away and think of things anew.
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Thursday 27th April 2006 10:15am
Albert Hotel, Queesgate, Kennsington, London
Well, I arrived here and had a really productive night getting things sorted out. In the evening I sat in Kennsington Gardens. A group of about ten women with an instructor ran onto the grass before me about half an hour later. I was just reading my book but they decided I was a pervert, kept saying, 'look, he's having the time of his life' as they kept coming closer doing bending etc. and laughed, 'watch where he puts his hands'.
But it wasn't really acceptable, to be honest. They didn't address me directly, to make it a joke, it was like serious insinuation. Only white limeys with too much money with Kennsington pads go around thinking everyone dark is just off a Turkish boat to rape the blonde ladies. An unfortunate form of narcissism, which was arrogant and made me uncomfortable when I had done nothing to warrent this.
Yesterday was productive. I went to St. James and got all the photocopies I need for the trip. Then I went to Kingly Street to replace my bead. The shop I wanted had moved, but I found another just near Carnaby Street. 12p for 2!
Then I had a tea in night cafe. They smelt me smoking and mopped the floor, thinking I'd walked something in.
Then I bought a sewing kit in Hammersmith, to sew up the magic.
This doesn't sound like so much, but it was an awful lot of walking and I felt satiated.
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