Being a sequence of events narrated at a soothing pace.

Two posts in one day? Yep, I'm getting sick.

Today:

Went to the Dali exhibition, which kindly exhibited mad Dali-action. If you want to crawl inside his head, he loved Freud, Newton and Don Quixote. "Just I don't know what a painting means while I am creating it, doesn't mean it won't have meaning when it is done.".

All UK airports are operating at extreme security alert levels. Flights are getting dropped cancelled and rearranged, creating a sense of panic in the hostel. The current restrictions in airports mean that hand-luggage is no longer allowed on any flights. I feel releived that safety is being guarded by watchful paranoia, but guilty that the first thought I had to the news was "I hope they lift the security for my flight back to Canada, cause I'd be some kind of bored without my I-pod".

Spent the afternoon near the Thames at a massive open air book stand under an old bridge. It was lovely, even dizzy with illness.

On the tube coming back to the hostel there was a man in gorgeous white leather shoes, crusty track pants (the kind with melted bits), a "Jesus died for your sins" t-shirt (tucked in, but straining against his gut), and a shiny elaborate silk shirt (hot pink) left unbottoned. The media have been doing their terror-shuffle, it hits you from every side, and on a crowded train he started preaching the end of the world in a thick French accent. At first I (and other people around me) felt the familiar reaction that I normally get to crazed evangelical types, a kind of cynical bemusement softly lit by irritation. But as he kept going, shouting at the top of his lungs about how we all will die and god will judge us, things changed. "What would you do if you died this minute? It could happen?". People stopped exchanging knowing glances at each other and started looking at their hands, I caught the guy across from me sizing the pink preacher up. He was thinking what I was. Sure he's crazy, but how crazy? A man like that should make me feel slightly irritated, not angry and scared. I found myself counting how many paces I was from the guy. I'd like to think that I was prepping some elaborate subconscious action sequence that would make Tony Jaa dizzy with admiration. Things stayed tense. Stops came and went. I got off the train at my stop feeling bullied by the British press.

Tomorrow? Brighton. I hear they keep an ocean there.