Another tube strike last week; I slept in the smallest guest room at work. The only redeeming factor of this arrangement was that I got to go 'running' in Hyde Park in the morning. My office is not even five minutes from the park. I'm very bad at running, but I like being out and about first thing in the morning. Running is basically an excuse to leave the house in what could be pyjamas, and very ugly shoes, and to observe other runners, people with their dogs, trees, and in this case, people swimming in the Serpentine, or riding their horses.
London: I went to the cinema and saw 'Frank', which I hated - my eyes hurt by the end because I had been constantly rolling them for an hour and a half; a documentary about the poet Michael Hamburger, which I loved; 'M', which we (i.e., the place where I work) were screening; and 'Captain America', because I love a depressing superhero film, and after which it took almost two hours to get back to the flat, two hours in which I almost lost the will to live.
London: I have been reading the cluster of magazines that I now have subscriptions for, thoughtful gifts from myself and others; an Anthony Trollope novel which is slightly too ironic and knowing for me to really enjoy it - a shame because I haven't read a Victorian novel I really enjoyed in a long time, and I thought this might be the one; and a book about the 'Radical Case for Scottish Independence', which is excellent.
London: I have drunk glass after glass of beetroot smoothies, cups of green chai. I had a day off (the first of May, a public holiday in Austria) and dyed my hair for the first time. Just the tips. Lilac.
London: I distract myself.