RANDOM ECHOES 13/10/05

Countdown - last day

An empty red room, ten thousand ghosts in there all connected - an arbitrary mark on a wall that dates the entire history of occupancy: a splash of red wine from a house warming party, in a property that never was a home or warm either - the ambience marred by too much struggle and tribulation and now it's just another aspect of history made day to day - I guess if I took the time I could remember everything that went on in there, every twitch of every muscle, every whisper, every oath, every mistake (and man so many), but you know what? I've never felt less sentimental in my life. I'm gone Brixton, gone.

Harold Pinter wins Nobel Prize for Literature which means it is exactly 8 years since I moved in to the flat on Coldharbour Lane that I am moving out (see blog entry dated 27/9/05 to see why).

3 good omens in silver:
- a wyvern on a rooftop in Faringdon EC1
- an elasticated hairband
- a foil cup for a sweet cheesecake