Across the pond

Enjoying the winter sunshine in the new flat at Parliament Court. Watching the artists and writers walk down the hill to collect their morning newspaper and take coffee at one of the many restaurants that George Orwell so much enjoyed when he lived here. (Sadly, they can’t stop in at Prompt Corner because it is now a hairdresser.)

At least they look like artists and writers. But they could well be ex-City bankers who have cashed in the bonuses of the  boom years, taken early retirement, and are now living the life they always dreamed of.

In the other direction I have been watching the trains go by, gazing over my old neighbourhood of Gospel Oak and waving to Alastair Campbell, who seems to be much enjoying his own not entirely voluntary early retirement. No  more running around after Tony Blair and sweet talking potential Labour fund rising, but writing quite passable fiction.

Must go now. Bill Oddie has just passed on his way up the hill. Methinks I will follow him and watch a few birds of the feathered variety.