Memento Mori
The 6:51 train from Brighton this morning, and a journey to the cultural wilderness of North Acton. Managed to find my way to the wrong place, who signed me in to their reception. After phone calls, I legged around the corner to somewhere with an almost identical address. Small friendly-enough office, and work that I was pleased to have. At lunch, having bought a species of low-calorie sandwich, I stole away to the nearby Acton Cemetery, and spent a happy half an hour wandering between the tipping gravestones. I enjoy imagining the lives they represent, hinted at from ages and dates of death, and fragments of information, such as one dying in a plane at an early airshow, or those who died during the world wars. Some in unusual languages too. Reflected how nothing other than this random hackwork would have made me travel to visit the haven of Acton Cemetery among the industrial estates. Left work at a reasonable time, although the tube was blocked and claustrophobic, so ...