Goths look pretty weird in the daylight. Well, not weird... but kind of wrong. At 7:45 this morning, Angel, bathed in morning sunlight, was also bathed in morning goths, fresh from some night of raving or other. Goths all over. Some alone, some in clusters, some in black, some with added techno luminosity. They smiled at me, even though, visually, I am the polar opposite, and I smiled back, clutching my rolled up map of the world and my bag, with a globe and a newspaper and some vests in it. I put the ppf on her aeroplane last night, and now she is in Brazil. I am looking at Brazil on my little globe, and I guess it isn't so far. This morning a strange, deep fog descended upon Stoke Newington, and as I brushed my teeth, a spider shimmied down its web to have a look at me. I gazed at it with a great love and understanding, and it gazed back with cheery indifference. At 11:01 pm last night, when I got out of the weird systems of transport that delivered me from Heathrow, and stepped onto Camden tarmac, a great white light cut through the inside of my brain for a spit second. I thought they'd dropped the bomb. I looked at my phone and it said 11:06. No one else saw it. And maybe I didn't either. But there is no time to ponder the ramifications of any of that now. I have to go and rehearse with my band. The deer are still in the park, and so is that aviary. Life goes on.