Peoples. Persons. Wantons.



Here I am, some call me mon amie blablabla. Do you remember? I don't remember what language it was. It's all the same in my head. However, they are all the same now, the mon amies and mon amours, they just have different names.
Moreover, I am in the middle of London. Red buses, the Big Ben in the background. 
I am eating my favourite haloumi wrap in Camden, and I am exploring the world in the natural history museum.
But most of all, I am staring. Staring at interesting people. What a great thing to do in a city like this.



And this wonderful creature, oh my days she is beautiful. Like a flower. 
I hope that Brighton will be the perfect place for this perfect person. 
We have squirrels on our hands and pelicans right in front of us. 
London is a zoo and we are right in the middle of it. Oh my days, life is good with her.



Donkeys years. So many years. Is it five? We don't know. This country brung us together.
So here we are, telling stories about the past and the future. It's all the same. We're just the same. 

 
My host. The insecure soul who wishes others well. We cook and cook, the most amazing foods in the world. 
And then I pursuade him to think whatever I want him to think. I don't know why, but it has never been this easy. So, now he's green and antipenalties. Good for me and for the country. 

Advent-ures.



Hello free days and sunshine. Let's discover new places and science. 
There is plenty to see in the intermission between two times. Wales let me down once again. 
But it was for the better. For the better. 



I have squirrels on my arms and hands and we're learning names of species.
We are watching the pelicans and discussing ugly ducklings. 
 
 
 
The businessmen have corrupted the city, but we do not mind. 
Tourism keeps it alive. The whole thing. From north to south and east to west. 
They make it flourish. Like a flower. Come un fiore. 
That's how we feel today. Italian. A tiny bit italian. 

Everything that you do not know.


Let the foreigner show you the way in the beloved London. 
Down to the underground markets in Camden and to the haloumi-hippies.



Setting, setting and setting. With chalky club t-shirts and stiff fingers. My forarms are aching, but it does not matter. Cardio, we are running. I am running. Where?

 
Oh, just here. The spring is coming, but the Big Ben is covered in rain drops.
Hail, sun, warmth, snow, rain, clouds. We've got it all. Listening to Seafret in a little coffeehouse session, 
they are going as big as THE Ben Howard. And we are eating carrots in a bar.
Planning my days and being famous for my dream catcher.