Thursday's Blah dee Blah

England is back to normal: grey, cold Summer mornings; spluttering rain and broken umbrellas; the wind rushing and ruffling people on Waterloo bridge; train drivers lost in their programmed messages; the season's colours on gossip magazines (only). I'm lazy at work and wish nothing more than to be at home, tucked underneath the duvet, reading a crime novel by Ruth Rendell or Michael Connelly.

I was one of the few brave enough to swim this morning. I had the whole Fast and Furious lane to myself. Four lifeguards stood together against the wall leading to the changing rooms, as if they were picking us for the Olympics. Returning to my apartment, I noticed a smiley face graffitied on the building's entrance door. Kevin pressed play on Saint Etienne's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart"; I boiled an egg, toasted some bread, and drank some Chai tea. In the Tube, I sat by an embrionic rock & roll star; I tried to concentrate on The Line of Beauty but his slouched, spread legs distracted me. He wore black boots and skinny pale blue jeans. Across our way, a gay couple dipped into their portfolios and bags, rummaging for the latest Wallpaper copy. One of them wore glasses that would be better suited on a five year old.

I thought about calling in sick and going to the movies. I want to see The League of Gentlemen Apocalypse. Plans to visit Hampton Court on Sunday have been shelved. I'll use the time instead to write a quick horror story and succeed in naturalbornkaos's challenge to submit something to a cheery zine by Monday. May the most gruesome win.

I`m going again to Button Down Disco tomorrow. It's a way to hang out with Melissa and Anne Marie (the Canadian girls I went out for a drink on Monday) as well as the last chance to hang out with Reco (he leaves for a trip around Europe, then a three-month sojourn in Vancouver.) I hope the DJ plays something good, for a change.