A link from Twitter leads to Jack Kerouac’s thoughts on writing and living in the present. Soon, I'm lost in thought watching the crows outside our living room, hopping from one Victoria Park tree to the next.
On the Overground to work, I listen to The Orchestra of Syrian Musicians and watch the faces of fellow passengers. Sun pours into the carriage, spring a week early.
A letter sent off at lunch time, a walk through Camden in the glorious sunshine. Chemtrails cover the sky, homeless people congregate outside high street bank branches. Very reluctantly, I return to my desk.