The long and even longer of it

A lesser Alice once sang:
school's out forever.

It's back to school folks, only that it isn't. Not anymore. I am done. The agony of the first day shall no longer hover over me - not in academic terms at least.

Before you ask for the details of my psychotherapist, I have not, in fact, found a solution to the age-old phenomenon of the first-day-anxiety, or indeed, the first-week-anxiety. I have just left education. Full stop.

The relief I am not feeling perfectly reflects the bouts of knowledge that I am not getting from a year of postgraduating my way through London: all I get is the waft of expired meat from the cornershop. It summarises what has been going on this last year, and unfortunately, there is no health and safety committee running to the rescue. If you are traveling to the Strand take some smelling salts with you  - the rot is unbearable.

There were happy times though (rummaging through archives), and it is strange to see familiar names and faces spread all over the world again, right through to the edges, like the most accurately garnished Nutella Bagel you have ever had. The back-to-school feeling is met with the feeling of losing irreplaceable friends, who remain on the same planet, but are in another galaxy. Life goes on, and that's the long and even longer of it, irrevocably, sadly, and with much anticipation of the things that are going to happen, because they will. A stand-still is not an option (as much as I would love to hang around in this moment for quite a bit, just enough to let everything settle) I run, just like everybody else, with the times, and against time. Lucky us. Poor us.

Go to Notes in Covent Garden. They are a
hipster, independent, relaxed café with
excellent nibbles, coffee and wines!

 While I am sitting here, over iced coffee and iced olives (pretentious idiot that I am), different lives happen. Lives that were once united in their hate against a prestigious (cough) university on the north side of the river, and that are now scattered around the globe as in a gigantic Monopoly game. As I have only ever played the Belgian version from the 1950s, I have no idea what the modern day equivalent of all the boulevards and rues is, but I imagine that some people will end up with four hotels in the Rue Neuve, while others constantly hop between Gare du Nord and Gare du Midi, and even others are happy to avoid the Caisse de Communauté. I have always preferred 'Spiel des Lebens' (LIFE for all Anglophones), because you had a car at your disposition, and there was this wheel in the middle that was slightly more arbitrary than the cards in Monopoly. As opposed to Monopoly, you could marry (though only into the opposite sex - might have to be revised now), and there was a sense of philanthropic accomplishment, in addition to all the money. Weird - me talking about philanthropy.

Isn't this the BEST loo in
London/the world??

So, I resume where I left it about a year ago. With it, I sort of mean my life, plans, etc., when friends re-scattered across the world, and life just continued, completely oblivious to all the details. I, however, am very attentive to all the details in this (my) life, and here is a bit of visual trivia (see picture). A textual analysis shows a water closet, white suite with a neon orange lid. In the background we see white tiles with black drawings. It is the loo at 157 Brick Lane, my local watering hole. As a person who rates places by the standard of their facilities, including hand soap and scent, I appreciate the effort these guys put into this award-worthy loo. Their coffee isn't too bad either.

The weather is now turning from soppy grey Summer-plagiat to Indian Summer. As always when things are shifting. With a bit of luck they shift in the right direction. If not, I'll still have the loo.