freedom writer ...

sitting in a wander-found park, in the middle of an ancient cemetery, having randomly passed the graves of William Blake and Daniel Defoe, i open my notebook to write about the LACK of freedom which defined my first two days of independence, and find an open internet connection as a flock of birds flies over my head .... ah, the irony

my career a la IBM officially ended on Friday, and so Monday was to be my first taste of this new phase of life. it was spent in:
- a taxi
- an airport
- a small pressurized tube
- another airport
- a derelict subway car, and
- the dark windy streets of a strange city
... and so i eagerly awaited my first 'real' day of freedom

i woke on Tuesday full of high hopes and meagre expectations: a coffee and sandwich out about town? a trip to the market? a nice walk perhaps? i gathered the wherewithal to have a shower and dress, and searched the apartment for the key which i had been told was “on the kitchen counter” waiting for me .... no apartment key; no possibility of going out. i spent the afternoon trapped in Déia's tiny flat and read in bed (that said, i'm loving my new book; if you haven't read anything by Gabriel Garcia Marquez then you are truly missing out)

i am happy to announce, however, that i have since spread my wings and am feeling quite free thankyouverymuch: on Tuesday night we went out to a nice Spanish bar for beers with friends, on Wednesday i toured the Victoria & Albert Museum (and particularly enjoyed the new exhibit on Islamic art and design), and tonight i’m off to a small club in Camden Town to see one of my favourite bands: Cursive

all is well on the Eastern front. take care my love!