Philippa and I are in a dreadful car park, somewhere near Woolwich. We've just eaten at a drive through Macdonalds. It's the first time I've ever been to one, and it felt incredibly surreal, like we'd been transported to a mid-Western state in the mid 1970s.
"It's in this Macdonalds drive through that you see some of the faces of British misery," says Philippa. And she's right. This place, sandwiched between a Staples and an Argos, is one of the saddest places I've ever visited!
A man's just walked past with "I'm loving it" written on the back of his hi-viz jacket. "I wonder if he is?" mused Philippa...
We've just been to a circus cabaret at Moira and Alex' hanger. Lots of people gyrating, contorting, flexing and hanging off things at improbable angles by their ankles. Brilliant stuff!
This morning at the cafe I saw a very sad thing. A little lost lady appeared at the door and asked the cafe owner where she was and where she was going. He suggested she might like to go to Highgate Village, and she liked that idea. "Just turn left outside the front door" he said, "and keep walking up the hill." She thanked him profusely, and off she went. Two minutes later she was back. "I can't remember where I'm going," she said. We gave her the directions to Highgate Village again. Two minutes later she was back for a third time. Apparently it happens all the time. She's in a home around the corner and wears a little bracelet to tell people where to send her when she gets lost. It made me feel very sad indeed. Losing my mind, losing track of reality is my biggest fear of all.