A day off work yesterday. Another day today.
Summery day again yesterday. When I finally got to leaving the house, I went to George Street, to Asdas, then came back home. Fell asleep on my mattress listening to Porcupine Tree's 'Metanoia'. Continual suspicion over the improvement in my mood since Saturday nadir of gloom (which bizarrely, and for no apparent reason, improved at dusk, and has remained fairly high since).
Saw the Swans at Concorde 2.
Andy and me walked back along the beach - about an hours walk. The wind was up - a cold wind too, but oddly pleasant because of it. Something about walking along the beach at night when there's a breeze. After we passed the swimming pool, the nature of the beach changed. Something desolate and sinister. Not a place I'd liked to be alone. 'When you're on the beach at night and it's windy, it always feels like you're being followed'. Andy says his eyes are so bad that he always sees things flickering in the distance. One of those umbrella-things (closed) over a pub table (or maybe it was a flag) flutters and jars. I keep seeing things too. Shadowy implications of movement further up the promenade. 'This section of the beach is haunted by a white dog following lonely walkers'.
Home. Sleep. Wake. Call in sick.
Not summer today but autumn. Grey skies cover everything, lending this room hazy, dream-like feel. Al texts me about walking to Portslade through the rain listening to Current 93.
The idea appeals.
