Here in computer corner it is relatively calm. The window is open and a pre-Spring sun is trying admirably. I am sweating like a drayhorse in July. Boxes boxes boxes boxes boxes. So much shit. And I suppose there really was a need to bring five tins of Heinz Lentil Soup and three bottles of Domestos, was there?
Downstairs David Bowie's "Let's Dance" is playing on the radio. I left home in 1983 and the first thing I did as soon as I was alone was put on that track and danced wildly round a rather flea-infested living room in my pink dressing-gown. Sheer joy at having done it. I promised myself I would do the same when I got here and envisaged a middle-aged and slightly fat but still very joyous moment. To be honest I'm just a bit too fucked, and there is not enough room, but I danced in my head. That will do for now.