A Pret a Manger breakfast (again); porridge (again). I’d no fixed itinerary until I caught my train home in the early afternoon. Green Park was my first destination:
It’s one of the smallest of the royal parks: secluded and intimate. One can see its periphery on all sides from anywhere within the boundary. I enjoy these still centres of the bustling city. It was a time for gathering and interrogating thoughts that should not be articulated. I saw a man standing motionless for some considerable time, as though his life had finally caught up with him:
Then, on to Convent Garden. The mirrored façade at the rear of the market (which I assume/hope is temporary) cheapens the architecture. And, we don’t need any more incentives to either practise self-regard or take tiresomely obvious photographs, such as:
Having circuited the area and picked up some delicacies at Paul’s patisserie, I descended the staircase at Leicester Square tube station, leaving behind the surface world of London, and headed for Euston station. The train made a prompt departure at 12.43 pm. My journey was dedicated to writing professorial and MA references, and popping some balloons of outstanding emails:
Through the train window, a spectral hand drew my attention. When I was six years of age, I saw, one sunny early morning, the shadow of a disembodied hand moving, grasping, and splaying its fingers above the bedroom window’s pelmet. To this day, I cannot explain how a shadow of anything could have been projected onto that part of the room:
There was the usual befuddlement at Birmingham International regarding which coaches of the Aberystwyth train would proceed there after they’d divided at Machynlleth. The announcement advised passengers to board the rear two; that is to say, not the rear two of the train as it enters but, rather, as it leaves the station. (The train goes forward in reverse, as it were.)
Home at around 5.25 pm. Dinner. Shower. Unpacking. Acclimatization. Work (with English choral anthems resounding in the background). Rest.
Returning from London to Aberystwyth is like journeying from Sodom and Gomorra to Eden: