This was at an Extinction Rebellion march last year some time- the same one with the gaggle of pelicans at the edge of St James's Park with their chicks (Ducklings? Peliclets? Piglets?).
I've been in Brixton today, conversing with my friend Rowen in the Black Farmer Café, all drifty music and peace and quiet. On the way there and back, Philip Oltermann's book The Stasi Poetry Circle has been my companion. Craftily, the book changes face as you read it, just as a member of the Stasi might. It's surprisingly inspirational as well as being intriguing. I've had it for ages on the book pile, but I've found secondhand crime novels too addictive to put down. Unfortunately (or maybe fortuitously), last night I finished both of them (one for home, one for away), and had to read a 'proper' book instead, and now I'm glad.
There is so much more information, or food for the imagination, in a book than on that-there-internet. Scrolling is like treading water: a sort of exercise, but it doesn't take you anywhere. Three cheers for movement, both physical and intellectual.
Now to chase the big pigeons off the bird feeder. They are brazen, and just look at me all innocent with their round, unemotional eyes as they grasp at the gutter. Look, guys, why not uproot the aerial garden that's taken root in the gutter mud? How the hell did that get there? There's a thriving row of greenery that could be usefully cleared by the clumsy birds and their destructive, clasping claws. But no, they have taken the easy route and insist on flappily hanging on to the frail plastic bird feeder that eventually falls to the ground where, triumphant, they guzzle the seeds meant for somebody else.
Bah!
Oh yes, I almost forgot. This is yesterday's one-hour drawing! Doesn't look like her at all and the umbrella is too scribbly, but you sacrifice finish for speed.
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