The Nexus Points of the DLR
I have learnt this weekend that it is possible for me to have a wonderful time despite the fact when I lie down it feels as if a sword is being thrust into my chest. The secret is the right company and being able to have plenty of fun in a vertical position.
My definition of fun this Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning ranged from enjoying a Greenwich sunset to dinner with delightful Sardinians; my first blowfish to shopping strolls via Kensington Gardens. This may seem provincial vanilla stuff to a hardcore hedonist, but it has left me still smiling despite the fact I am occasionally struggling for breath today.
Walking in parts of London I’ve not visited for years, I feel as if my internal maps are being redrawn. As memories of place, atmosphere and association are updated, a fresh version of me is also being charted in my imagined atlas of the capital. These new diagrams of the city in my head – whether routes between Royal Oak and Holland Park or the nexus points of the DLR – are expressions an exceptionally personal psychogeography. As my knowledge of London becomes more current, the jigsaw of places starts to come together to reveal not just an A-B on the A-Z, but also a new picture of happiness.
It is more than typical writer superstition that stops me from saying anything else at this point, (few authors like talking about things at too early a stage out of fear on invoking the fates to spit on them). The sort of delicious contentment I have enjoyed this weekend is so precious it is neither easily expressed nor readily translatable for an audience. Whatever the destination of this joyous walk, I just do not want it to stop.
My definition of fun this Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning ranged from enjoying a Greenwich sunset to dinner with delightful Sardinians; my first blowfish to shopping strolls via Kensington Gardens. This may seem provincial vanilla stuff to a hardcore hedonist, but it has left me still smiling despite the fact I am occasionally struggling for breath today.
Walking in parts of London I’ve not visited for years, I feel as if my internal maps are being redrawn. As memories of place, atmosphere and association are updated, a fresh version of me is also being charted in my imagined atlas of the capital. These new diagrams of the city in my head – whether routes between Royal Oak and Holland Park or the nexus points of the DLR – are expressions an exceptionally personal psychogeography. As my knowledge of London becomes more current, the jigsaw of places starts to come together to reveal not just an A-B on the A-Z, but also a new picture of happiness.
It is more than typical writer superstition that stops me from saying anything else at this point, (few authors like talking about things at too early a stage out of fear on invoking the fates to spit on them). The sort of delicious contentment I have enjoyed this weekend is so precious it is neither easily expressed nor readily translatable for an audience. Whatever the destination of this joyous walk, I just do not want it to stop.
posted by David at
3:51 PM
5 Comments:
This blog entry reads like bad Iain Sinclair or a loved-up piece of crap by Stewart Home.
Given that I would love to write even a fraction as well as Iain Sinclair on his worst day crafting fever dream sentences, I cannot help but take this comment as a compliment.
Good news provoking bilious gouts of bitter venom?
How very British.
Anyone still wondering why I left the country?
Yes just why did you abscond the country so quickly? Where and what method of transport did you use? Are we to be under the suspicion that there is a bounty on your head?
Rum, cigar and a bounty on the head? Reminds me of something. Can't think what.
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