London calling

I'm back in London.

I'm struck by the way I seem to be a different person on the other side of the world. It's like a photo negative, a cut out or a shadow where the outline is the same, but light and dark have swapped. However, some things are the same. I've come to accept that I have multiple roles and identities, and belong to different places. Here is one of them.

After 5 days, I've tapped into the energy of London. I still love the river, my haunts on the South Bank, and have walked from Tower Bridge to Waterloo, and Waterloo to London Bridge more than once.

The tube is very hot, but provides space to think, as you wait for trains or on trains. Initially, I was looking all around me but after a while tuned into my own head, or a book. The time out travelling, reading a book is something I didn't know I'd missed.

I can happily lose myself browsing in the Tate Modern, National Gallery and Royal Festival Hall bookshops. Sometimes, doing it, I think of my father who I know loves browsing and buying books - temperamentally we're similar there. I've resisted the temptation to buy too much so far... Only 3 books - one of theatre games by Viola Spolin from the National. Julia Cameron's "Letters to a Young Artist" for gentle inspiration and a challenging read, John Carey's "What Good Are the Arts?" from the Tate.

I'll blog more on the latter later, as I'm still digesting it. In the meantime, here is a link to a review in the Times