Sunday, November 19, 2006


Cool and crisp and bright. It is the kind of day that tastes like apples and smells like leaves and sounds like football and friendship.

What a day.

Weather is one thing that binds city dwellers. Weather and streets and government. But on a day like today, one can walk in a beautiful city park, one can feel the sun on one's face, the leaves underfoot. One can stroll along, passing others who do the same. Weather makes us neither older nor younger, richer nor poorer, blacker nor whiter than anyone else. Weather like today's makes us all one thing: lucky to be alive and breathing and sentient enough to experience a day like today.

I sit, sipping tea at Harrods. It's a bit overrated, if I may say so. It has nothing on the park.

(This was written yesterday. I meant to post last night when I got back from the pub, but instead I just ordered room service and passed out watching Gladiator. Are you not amused? It struck me that being a Gladiator is not unlike being a standup comic. First you work small town clubs until you make a name for yourself. Then you bust into the big city and kill! Same thing, no?)

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