"[let] your ruddiness [be] mine, my paleness yours"

last night sten was out in central london - tottenham court road, kings cross, euston. all deserted. a few people wandering here and there, one or two people in the pubs, nobody in the restaurants, the waiters looking at their phones. he says he often has to pinch himself, as if to wake up, to remind himself that suddenly we are in a global event.

what do we do now? we wait.

horsemouth’s lockdown is not airtight enough he realises. he would probably want shoes off at the door, wash your hands as soon as you come in, separate knives, forks and dishes (this sort of thing). he thinks daryll’s lockdown is solid enough (he never sees him despite sharing a house with him). everyone else is over committed to activity.

how goes his hoarding? he’s probably ok for coffee (himself and sten were joking that they had enough to last til june) but he could do with getting in more veg and more rice (and more fake meat). he has (of course) enough books to last him several times over.

today it’s a grey morning. horsemouth much prefers it when there is sun - he can sit outside on the steps or in the back garden and read. today he might go out for a walk (he’s been in four days solid and feels no better nor no worse).

in italy they are singing from the balconies. I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore 2.0.

this evening is big in the run up to nowruz (iranian new year - the equinox) with lots of jumping over bonfires, singing "sorxi-ye to az man, zardi-ye man az to" literally meaning "[let] your ruddiness [be] mine, my paleness yours"