All has to end

'You're on the Gravesend, I'm on the platform. Sixteen, sixteen, tell me a coach no. xx'

A change of plan already, no longer Greenwich Park, but, a world away, New Cross Station. The change takes me walking past the new Goldsmith's College Arts building, all glass and burnished chrome,

with a hat like Tapies' cloud. I came to Goldsmith's once before, applying for a place to read Music. That same day I met a girl I liked and we went to the park by the station. Things were going well until I told her I had a girlfriend. Then things went strange. Fair enough s'pose.

'Maybe three or two or four definately with heat and people see moments x'

We're a little giddy with kitchen sink romance, industrial contexts. Maybe its more beautiful in the everyday. Who needs the mystery of a Greenwich park rendez-vous when you've got each other in your raw humanity; who needs well-kept beaux-arts when there's peeling paint or a brutalist housing estate?

Get on the train..

'I'm on the second from the front but there's no way back! Pop yr head out at St John's x'

More anon.