Unsettling; Staring forward and looking back I've got to finish this bloody page. Look at up. That will soon be an image and a name and something more than grey words and orange links. It's not that I've been ambivalent, but there's a lot of computer jockeying that's happened to make HTML and images and get it hoisted up onto the page.



Yesterday, whilst crossing Edgware Road to lunch I saw a hearse with a casket and a pile of flowers. Mortality on display, there to suck up one's distractions and preoccupations and spit them back with a "I'm being buried today" procession through the streets. It's a sad, lonely, unceremonial moment when you realise we do actually all die alone (unless you die with others of course, then you don't die alone, but you're buried alone.)



Then I notice the driver was singing along to the radio. Actually full out singing. I'd like to think he was singing Amazing Grace or something, but he was probably singing Justin Timberlake or some old Oasis songs. Singing like he hadn't a care in the world, or actually a dead person in his backseat.



Shouldn't that be disallowed? Respect for the dead, and all that. What if the deceased hated Oasis? What if they once said, "I'd rather be dead than listen to Oasis" and now they're dead and having to listen to it?



In other preoccuptions. I'm flathunting. I hate it. Too many poorly lighted, badly furnished overpriced flats that letting agents are happy to say are "modern, light, and really fantastic value." By far the best flat I've seen just happens to be upstairs from the flat I lived in when I first moved here. I'm thinking about renting it, but wondering, is that terribly regressive?