ECHO - London

Back in London and nothing that I write seems important. In the evening it feels swallowed and purposeless. I have to push to believe. I am aware that the half-life I have in the city may be the culprit. I find myself venturing into the heart of the corporate zone, Canary Wharf, at the end of the day say around 7pm and surprisingly there I find solace and purpose in all the subterranean glass and steel and polished floor tiles; early evening shoppers browsing Jubilee Place, the coffee shops still full and the bars heaving.

There is always the possibility of Cybele who I believe is currently looking out over the spit of land at Orford Ness. She waits with her entourage - The Radio Gods - picking up the old transmissions, smiling; accompanied by the curlews call. In a few weeks I'll be listening too. Maybe, just maybe, she will take my hand and lead me into the sea with them.