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They don't pick up the rubbish very quickly after new years, but they probably pick it up eventually, after new years. The Thames is at low tide, revealing pickled mud-laden banks - a treasure trove for the homeless who trawl for the bones of convicts tossed overboard, too sick for the journey to New Britain. Subway doesn't even sell cookies.
We spot lots of frozen vomit in corners, alley-ways and some in the middle of footpaths. Red wine seems to freeze into red granules, while other concoctions just look like frozen vomit. Red wine frozen vomit is much prettier compared with new years concoction frozen vomit.
I think we were up to early today, London hadn't prepared its face very well.
We walked to Odeon West-end, played scissors-paper-rock [the only pure game left] and on the decision set in stone by the victor made the choice of Micheal Clayton over We own the night. I had a sleep in Micheal Clayton, it was nice. The credits were the best part though, is it absurd to think that movie-makers come up with one idea, one shot, and design a whole movie around it?
By 4pm the credits had stopped rolling, and as we exited the cinema it appeared London had reloaded itself.
