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August 8th, 2003

Flash mob amusement...

While I may not have made it to the mob, I found a photograph of a bohemiancoastcertain UK fan on Warren Ellis' photoblog of the event...

So do you get points for being blogged by someone else at a flash mobbing?

Words and music entwine

A while back I enthused about seeing The Waterboys on the Universal Hall tour.

Recently the ever excellent The War Against Silence took a look at the album. It's a lovely piece of writing, and well worth reading, even if you don't like The Waterboys!

Comics with soundtracks?

An experiment by those nice folks at Dork Tower...

The travelling meme

Stolen from jhaelan.

1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own country?

Depends how you define country: a week or so ago I went to St Andrews in Scotland, or a month or so ago I was in Barcelona in Catalonia.

2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while travelling?

Hmm. Seeing fiddler crabs and mudskippers on salt flats on an island near Hong Kong and suddenly realising that I was in the tropics...

3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go?

I'd like to do a road trip across Canada. The USA seems too cliched, and I know enough folk in Canada to be able to mix it with visiting friends. I'd really like to do the whole length of the Trans-Canada Highway, starting in St John's

4. Do you prefer travelling by plane, train or car?

Varies - depending on where I am, or where I'm going. Certainly in the UK, or anywhere you can to easily via the Chunnel, then it's train. International, plane - but only f I get to turn left when I get on...

5. What's the next place on your list to visit?

Hopefully I'll be in SF at the beginning of September. If I can get a visa sorted in time...

There will come soft commentary...

...in the shape of an annotated version of Ray Bradbury's There Will Come Soft Rains (itself based on a Sara Teasdale poem with the same title).

(thanks to wendyg for pointing it out in her latest Net Wars column)

Painting Party: Sunday 10th August

Come help marypcb and me paint the new rooms!

It's an open invite, just pop in any time after 2 this coming Sunday afternoon and pick up a roller for a bit. Food and drink provided (let us know about any allergies or intolerances in advance, if possible)- I may even attempt to burn things later on, to inaugurate the roof terrace..

Nearest tube: East Putney
Nearest BR: Putney

51 Oakhill Road
Putney
SW15 2QJ

(click the address for a map)

Zone Two Sunset

Escaping from the heat of the day on to the roof, where I actually seem to be able to get some work done.

Instead I find myself trying to capture the feel of an evening up here on the edge of the metropolis, in that limbo that lies between suburb and city. This is Zone Two. This is the space on the map which marks the edges. The not quite real. Where New Corobuzon drags Perdido Street Station out of the heart of London. Where the houses empty onto the 8 am trains and fill again at 7 pm.

The sun is a flat red circle slowly drifting down in the west, a child's balloon swimming in the heat haze, marking a road for the jets drifting out of the cloudless sky as they slide down to Heathrow. In the distance the tube rattles over the Thames, clattering its way in and out of the city.

A rumble of angry diesel splits the evening. Two huge engines are lumbering past on the line into London, pulling a massive high speed train. Where has it come from, where is it going? There's little between here and Reading... Not quite big enough to be a Eurostar on a roundabout route from North Pole, so I'm guessing it was one of the new Virgin Pendolinos being towed somewhere for repair or to be shown to the general public.

I doubt I'll ever find out.

Somewhere there is an alarm clock, bleeping its way to a flat battery.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Bleep.

The sun is a deep, angry cerise.

The foxes are starting to stir. Beside me a cat wakes as a pigeon batters the air, flapping from tree to tree.

The setting sun is just above the trees on the western skyline, drawing the tower of Putney Wharf as a dark wedge on the skyline, while a helicopter dragonflies itself up the river.

I can smell a barbecue. The burnt coals and the seared meat. This is the sign of a summer city.

The sun fades to magenta, and settles behind the haze. Above me the sky is a pale, silken blue. Massive and slow, a jumbo jet marks its passage in a rumble and whine of turbofans, and a miasma of burnt kerosene.

Below, I can hear a clatter of cutlery. Next door preparing dinner in their shining new kitchen.

The sun has gone, fallen behind the edge of the world.

I can still hear the alarm clock.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Sun gone, the lights come out, tracing the edges of the high rise towers.

Bleep.

Bleep.