Unposted Photographs of October 2022 in Chronological Order

 On the first I left Trafalgar Sqaure in bloom, happy with the city I lived in, and crossed the river to get a better view of it.

 

 In the basement of the Royal Festival Hall three dancers had found a space outside the toilets.

 

 I've lived in Notting Hill a year now. I finally found the quickest route to the park, but it still feels like I'm finding routes rather than walks.

 

 Trellick Tower, its green heart still commemorating Grenfell. It always appears in view suddenly and to the right of where I expect.

 This was the first time I'd revisited the Victoria and Albert Museum since moving up the road.

 

 I suddenly remembered seeing Jennifer Tilly here, and hearing her, and tried to recall the plot of Slipstream.

 Neil and I went to see Big Ben break his News Revue cherry. Their six week run outlasted two Prime Minsters. Fred Strangebone in a blonde wig turned out to be a very serviceable Keir Starmer. He was the only one to do silly bio.

 In Tate Britain I stayed in the box with the racist language for the whole video (I can't find who's this was or what. It was wonderful. Does anyone know?) Others entered the box and left, very possibly because I was in there, but I don't know how better to screen it.

 

 Over the escalators in the tube adverts are now screened an angle, tampering with my balance over the duration.

 Here outside the vault of the Ned, it occured to me that on Saturday we should all wear robes.

 

 Then we moved on to Greenwich peninsula to rehearse the counting of rice.

 Our rice in situ.

 Suddenly October was beginning to end. I mean, to finish. I caught Ilona's exhibition just as it was being taken down.

 This Flying Tiger model could have got more into the spirit of the season I felt. I bought nothing.

 On this stage I saw David dance and speak lines from King Lear. A good block.

 Outside on Regents Street they were beginning to put up angels.

By this point my phone had crashed. Everything was harder to record on Badphone, particularly Maxfield Parrish light. Why was it still Summer?

 On this stage I saw Natasha dance and speak lines from King Lear. I was not expecting that in a production of Henry the Eighth.

 My balance tampered with, I was still happy to have to caught the last matinee and celebrated with a walk on the beach. 

 

 On this stage I saw my former rice wife Julia cast her own legs as her parents and her hand as her dog. I'd missed her rumbling, threatening giggle. It got messy.

 

 Rehearsals started for the Love Goddess in Marylebone. Working in daylight suddenly.

 Opposite Alfies Antiques. Everything a walk away.

 And last Saturday, like the first, saw Trafalgar Square in bloom again.