Well, I’ve written a blog (it’s about that octopus) and I was all set to post it when I got home, but will I ever get home? I’m stuck in traffic on the way back from my show – I’m not driving of course, it’s illegal to drive and blog, and it’s also illegal to drive if you can’t drive.
So I’ve little choice but to put this up as a stopgap, in case the dreaded midnight comes, and then stick the new one up as Monday’s blog when I’m home. Leading to a devastating double whammy of blogs for most of you. Apart from the amazing people who read them almost the instant they appear.
Piccadilly Circus at this time of night provokes the weird feelings of alienation and smallness which non-city-dwellers often get in cities. Normally I love big crowded places as you know, but something about the very busiest bits of London on a Sunday night is oddly unnerving. Where do all these people come from? What are they up to? Are they happy? Etc.
I can equally see how the same questions can spark off all sorts of inspiration. But not for me tonight. I’m ever so hungry and I want to be in bed. Hurry up, other cars.