This morning as I was packing, I realised I had about a third of a bottle of wine hanging about, so I drank it. I've never, ever drunk in the morning before so it felt daring and a little bit degenerate. It was fine and had worn off by the time I handed over my keys. It will be our secret.
I had a brief love affair with Croydon in the six weeks I was there. It was time to move on. I'll take with me lots of mental images: the butchers where they only play Bob Marley; the jewellery shop that sells functioning gold dummies; the market that has been setting out stalls since 1276; the slightly feral edge to the town on Friday and Saturday nights; and Boxpark, which is probably a sign of the apocalypse.
Apparently it is possible to live with uncertainty and insecurity. It's not fun, but it's possible. Next week I have an interview for the job I have been doing as a temp the last two months. Quite a lot rides on that. If I do not get it I will have to reassess my situation quite sharply.
