Wednesday. Morning trains smell mainly like coffee breath. Repeat offenders. ‘Hump Day’ - I usually feel like Thursday is the hardest day of the week. Wednesdays you don’t yet have the fatigue and exasperation of the end of the week, Fridays you get to wear jeans and knock off early and you’re clever and amused all day. Thursdays, no matter how tired and exasperated you get, you know you still have to do it another day. Wednesdays are just Wednesdays, bland days, heart of nothing.

It’s true that wet streets look beautiful in sunlight. My morning walk all of it faces the sun, skyscrapers thinning as I draw on to the horizon.

I’m now (even now) using an electric tea pot at work, which delights me no end; I’m tea’d up good. Reading Libra. A used copy of Underworld is en route, which I plan lovingly to re-read, pencil and x-acto(tm) in hand, a cartographic reading.

C

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