under another sun

Gorgeous day, although it clearly was the wrong kind of sunlight on the tracks as the train crawled into London. The train dragging and stopping in South London. Almost finished Why Philosophize ? by Jean-François Lyotard. A collection of lectures to freshmen, and for a French postmodernist philosopher, fairly easy to understand – and disagree with. My philosophical and ideas reading at the moment has a bit of purpose. Postmoderism contributed to the post truth world we find ourselves in, by undermining notions of truth, and by basically saying everything is relative and it depends on whose truth you are talking about. Of course there is a great deal of sense in this viewpoint, but the transition from that position to the one we are now in is interesting.  Penultimate day shambolic. Workflow for Keith and I is either slack or maniacal. A series of websites Keith and I had put together and delivered last week, were finally reviewed mid afternoon today, and we received a world o...

Somewhat tired and wan this morning. Wrote to Richard on the train, and had a full day of writing about things that were complex but uninteresting. Got tetchy with a suit this morning in the office. Had a fairly successful teleconference, bought small amounts of food and longed for home. Talking to a fellow freelancer this morning, who had just burned himself really badly on the steam coming out of the kettle. Turned out that he had broken his back in three places five years ago by coming off a bicycle. There are parts of his body he cannot feel, such as his wrist and feet. He showed me the blister. Nasty. Home listening to Greene's Brighton Rock . Really beginning to enjoy it, and one of the houses Pinky the young villain visits is almost under the shadow of the viaduct. Lorraine had cooked a coconut and fish dish for us this evening, which was delicious. But she got a call from Betty who was sick, and drove off in a mercy dash to collect her from London. Meanwhile Toby an...

A comforting ghost Oddly, considering I woke very early after a short night's sleep felt grateful to be alive, and full of cheer this morning. I was listening to the The End of the Affair , watching the countryside and railway sidings slip by, full of purple buddleia and yellow flowers. I had a vision on the train. Out of nowhere Dave my Grandfather was sitting opposite me and holding my hand. I guess he must have held my hand once or twice as I had a sense memory of what his hand felt like, and he was the same sort of age as I am now. A weird, passing thing, that at the time seemed natural and comforting. It was so real that it brought a lump to my throat and I almost cried. Very odd, like seeing an unalarming ghost. Into the agency, and again rather a thin day's work to the point that I'm not required to go tomorrow, though some work may be briefed in remotely - i.e. I can stay in bed an hour longer, and no commute. The French Bloke gave a talk to his agency like a kind o...