Yesterday I felt myself reaching a psychological limit. It had been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. It felt like we would never see the sun again. Only one thing cheered me up as the sky spat on me in its routine manner. I was cycling round by the statue of the mythical queen into the realm of the Last Actual Queen. The flames were lit on the gateposts of her palace. This signifies something, no doubt, but nobody ever explains what. As I approached the flickering flames I saw a bus: ‘Bus not in sevice’ it said on the front? A mistake, or African English creeping into London where many would rather not see it? I like to think the latter. If African children must dig our phones out the ground they can change our language.
Today the rain stopped and the sun emerged. It was a great relief, though I was too tired to entirely enjoy it. I went to see an oracle, who surprisingly turned out to be male. He seemed relaxed about the swirling vortex of destruction that is engulfing us, though whether he is resigned or he believes we can find a way beyond it I could not tell.
I note that Dynamo Sparkle has not replied. It could be she didn’t take the message as a kindness, that it arrived at the wrong moment, or caused the wrong reaction. Sometimes kindness is hard to do.