The wall

I hit the wall this afternoon. I worked until 4 pm--my brain foggy--and went home with the thought that I’d drop my bag off and catch the tube to the Thames for a nice evening dander. I’m just too worn out (did I mention I have a cold?). So I walked to Camden, had dinner in a pub, and walked home.

Bloody phone. That’s Camden market in the background and a narrow boat (with a hen party) in the lock.

The bathroom in the pub was full of graffiti dedicated to Amy Winehouse. When I left, they were playing Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers. So even though being in a pub makes me feel ancient, I at least am connecting to artists I know and admire. If you haven’t seen the documentary on Amy, you might not understand why it’s OK to admire her. (Spoiler alert: her dad was a nasty, sycophantic bastard.)
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