Day 5: Moonstruck

I know technically it's not a full moon until tomorrow, but it might as well be.  It's big, fat and silvery - hanging low in the sky and mesmerising me.  I've stopped three times just to gawp like a village idiot.  It's a hunter's moon, and I feel like I should be sneaking off on a poaching mission, or smuggling French brandy and lace.  Two illuminated vapour trails cross underneath.  An ethereal skull and cross-bones.  (Or perhaps the moon is illiterate and cannot do a proper signature...)     

I am not off to poach or smuggle, but to post a letter.  Delighted to see that the brand new crossing has already been customised.  I've been wondering why the little green/red man is now positioned at waist height.  Now I know.  It's for the convenience of my graffiti soul-brethren, who have wasted no time in giving him an impressive (and jizzing) cock and balls.  St Albans - I salute you. 

This afternoon I went to see my old DK colleague and friend, Jane.  I'd not seen her since 1996, but she now lives literally round the corner.  What an excellent random reincorporation.  I didn't like many people at DK, but Jane was one of the few I did.  Why else would I have loaned her my classic 1970s safari suit?  Fat biscuits, a giggly baby, and more honest conversation.  One of the payoffs of the recent complications in my life has been the change in the level at which I want to communicate.  I just need to connect properly.  To lay myself open and be utterly truthful, and celebrate the warmth and humour of the people around me.  Walking back from Jane's, lit by the moon, I had a fleeting sense of my mojo.  It's still there, but faintly - like a tiny pilot light deep within.  But still there, burning. 

Big fat silvery magical moon.  Breathe.