I have had an absolutely glorious morning, thanks for asking. I was totally right about Frank Capra. The sun came up - it rose like heartache over the school I see out my window, casting long, lush rectangles of light across my sofa, and I took to the Stoke Newington streets, cars yawning throatily into the daylight, an old man gurgling cider through a blood-burst smile, old ladies pinging past on bicycles waving. I bought eggs and bacon and bread from my little corner shop, a butterscotch coffee from - no shit - the coffee shop, and retired to Clissold Park, which I can see from my kitchen window, and sat on a bench with Brave New World, lifting my head intermediately to smile at people and marvel at the birds swooping overhead in V formation. I only sussed out why they do that the other day. It's amazing. The lead bird breaks the air, creating a slipstream so the others are carried along more easily. If one bird gets tired, and falls back, at least another two will follow, to make sure its OK.
I have lived in this house for a few months now, but this was the first time I've taken advantage of the park in the morning. It is a gift, and I am a wastrel. I sat there and soaked in the sun and the cold like a big pink battery and giggled at the myriad off funnily bred dogs, chasing each other, pooing, sniffing each other's bottoms, their owners exchanging embarrassed apologies and pleasantries, while children walked in twos and threes and ones to school, some glum, some merry, some lost in thought, some shrieking into the cold. Brave New World suddenly seems more hopeful - Bernard and Lenina are on the reservation, with the savages. That I relate so much to Bernard is less depressing today, for some reason.
I am indoors now, and I have dusted away what the daylight showed up, and my eggs are crackling away happily, and Birddogg and my old Valentine's Day mixtape sounds pretty brilliant. I shall bid you a good day, and get on with mixing OddKidd's songs, so that somebody can pay her to make noises too.