A man sat next to me on the bus this morning, and I barely had a chance to acknowledge his handknit grey cable jumper than he whipped out (steady) some giant circular needles and continued something complicated-looking in acid green. He was not your 'average'-looking knitter, being big and burly with long red dreadlocks and fisherman's beard, which somehow made it all the more pleasing. I wanted to introduce myself as a fellow knitter, but felt too shy - if only there was some kind of secret symbol or handshake.
So yes, I am now in London, no more trains. It hasn't quite sunk in yet, I am still waking up at 6, only now I am having jumbled dreams about Brighton and work and school and (last night) being massively pregnant and eating chocolate cake. I am staying temporarily in a flat in Hackney, so getting used to sirens and sodium lighting keeping me awake rather than seagulls and the lumbering circuits of the Number 5. The other side of the flat overlooks a canal, so at least I get the rather bucolic conversations of ducks and moorhens to make me feel more at home.
It's strange getting home in time for Coronation Street, it's strange not seeing the sea at the end of my road. I am pretending not to be nervous when I get off the bus in Hackney and it's dark. My stuff is all in heaps of boxes in my old flat. I am a gypsy again.
