Third London

The river runs shallow here, the huge swans run aground, honking for all they're worth. Every few scores of metres, the riverside path gives in to private barriers, and I have to take shady detours behind council estates, building sites, warehouses, and once, Fulham football club. You can't accuse them of over-taxing this bit of London's waterfront, certainly. It remains, primarily, a doggie running path. If you stop to eat a piece of southern fried chicken on one of the slightly decrepit benches here, you will be examined by several hungry but obedient pet dogs, ignored by plenty of dedicated joggers, and entertained by random happy yells carrying over the water from the yacht club at the far end of the river, where it turns into Chelsea Harbour. The autumn sky is gorgeous of course; pink and purple till the lights of Hammersmith bridge north and west turn it hazy and the water orange. I can obviously go on forever about the Thames in SW6, so I won't.

Thinking back on this week, I see shades of red on all ages of brick building on my new commute into work. I see a variety of shades even from window number one, next to the bed, if I raise my head a little. Lying flat, I see blue sky flecked with cloud, rimmed with more red bricks, the lintel row (just above the window frame) making a pretty, rhythmic pattern. Window number two is behind my writing desk, which doesn't fit into the corner really, because the corner isn't rectangular. Indeed no two vertical surfaces in my new room are perpendicular. It's completely eccentric. So obviously I'm crazy about it. The latest addition, today, is a set of wooden 'Venetian' blinds on each window, which I've been twiddling for the last half an hour. Last night I had raptures over a bookcase, into which I finally unpacked volumes which lay untouched for a whole year. There's even place in the bookshelf for showing off the postcards and other weird graphic shit I keep picking up here and there.

Last night I also had raptures about some old clothes which I found at the bottom of a suitcase, which I can suddenly fit into now, and how. Then I serendipitously arrived at the perfect boudoir outfit for when (not if!) my new room turns into the mantrap it was always meant to be. So, you wanna come back to mine, types. Swoon.

Forgive me, gentle reader. Moving into the top floor of a Victorian conversion in west London has turned head a little. Though the loo is tiny, the kitchen is unusable until next week when everything is refitted, I have no internet till Monday, and my room smells of paint, I am feeling a wee bit on top of the world.

Although! Work is rather sucky! The pressure is really on. And I am getting better and better at finding diversions for my fickle mind! And tomorrow this should be really easy as it's Friday.

Will tell you how it goes….