Day 212: Smoke (No Mirrors)

Return to St Albans, where the bedraggled remains of a rainy Jubilee are still in evidence.  Onn the high street, there's a funfair, burger vans and trestle tables, plus a stage with a man singing 'Hello Dolly'.  Nothing for me here. 

I've not seen a hair brush or soap or a mirror since Saturday morning.  The shower water going down the plughole is dirty and the bathroom smells of campfire smoke.  These are good things. 

Turn on the telly to see some manic flag waving.  Prince Phillip manages to get out of attending the Jubilee concert courtesy of a 'bladder infection'.  Elton wears violent pink, Gary looks stressed and Macca strains uncomfortably for the high notes.

As I go to bed, I pass my jacket and sniff the sleeve. 

Still smells of smoke.