there is sex in spring
Its spring again, and the sun is doing some indepth marketing in London, treating everyone with what they've been craving since some forgotten time last year. We've had a week full of gorgeous days since the time changed last weekend and consequently been been leaving work earlier and earlier as opposed to staying later and later. Basking in the early evening solar glow afforded by my top deck double decker ride home, via the 243 bus, has done wonders recharging my batteries.
I'm moving house again over the next few weeks and have been cleaning up at home, chasing the mice out from under my bed, sweeping up dead skin and random hair elastics from corners of my room, and having a few reflective moments about the past year in Dalston.
Dalston; home of the dirtiest, friendliest, most threatening but most welcoming streets in London. Hah. Dalston is populated by mostly north african, carribean and turks; families and gangstas alike reside in its georgian terrace houses. They all hang out together during the day on the local market and buy/sell each other usefull things like pots and pot. I live above the biggest market, of which I believe there are three. It's the most vibrant and stimulating place I've ever lived. Razorlight wrote a song called 'Dont go back to Dalston', reffering to Pete Dochertys trips to drug using/dealing friends in Dalston. So many London bands live around the corner from me that I couldnt do them all justice by name dropping.
It's been probably a year since I've regularly written on livejournal. I've filled numerous little books with notes that have never made it onto the internet and I'm happy that I've learned to be happy with myself as an outlet. Re-reading things I wrote noted months ago has been so rewarding. Moleskin journals are key.
I'm moving house again over the next few weeks and have been cleaning up at home, chasing the mice out from under my bed, sweeping up dead skin and random hair elastics from corners of my room, and having a few reflective moments about the past year in Dalston.
Dalston; home of the dirtiest, friendliest, most threatening but most welcoming streets in London. Hah. Dalston is populated by mostly north african, carribean and turks; families and gangstas alike reside in its georgian terrace houses. They all hang out together during the day on the local market and buy/sell each other usefull things like pots and pot. I live above the biggest market, of which I believe there are three. It's the most vibrant and stimulating place I've ever lived. Razorlight wrote a song called 'Dont go back to Dalston', reffering to Pete Dochertys trips to drug using/dealing friends in Dalston. So many London bands live around the corner from me that I couldnt do them all justice by name dropping.
It's been probably a year since I've regularly written on livejournal. I've filled numerous little books with notes that have never made it onto the internet and I'm happy that I've learned to be happy with myself as an outlet. Re-reading things I wrote noted months ago has been so rewarding. Moleskin journals are key.