The flat smells inexplicably of when we first moved in, an olfactory ghost from a year and a third ago. As I move through the rooms, collecting things I need for work, glimpses of the day outside, between badly drawn curtains, show a thick gloom. Surely it should be lighter than this out there now?
I dreamt of Ickenham again last night. I was walking through Swakeleys Park and it was sunny. I was quite happy walking here. There were a few new dream-additions; some kind of bar, and a wooden boat on which a truanting schoolboy lay in an inefficient attempt at hiding. I must have walked up Woodstock Drive but I don't remember. There was a DIY shop between Ickenham and Uxbridge. I got lost in here for a while, but managed to find my way out of the dark woods of it's interior. I wondered if there was a comic shop in town I could look round. I couldn't remember.
