London
Barbara wonders whether London is the best place within which to pursue a course of contemplation. But it's the belly of the beast, I report. Everything that is wrong with the West is here to slap you in the face with its reality.
I am lonely and depressed in this couch shuffle. We could try the bridge or else sleep awake amongst seventy swans snuggling for warmth.
The city is constantly being downed with aircraft exhaust. A very fine mist thereby dampens the intensity of the sun staring out of cloudless skies. It is all otherwise most glorious. Another masterstroke of human technological indirect ingenuity.