This Morning’s sun broke over the tram terminus and the Olympic stadium like a fire. A cold morning though. Autumn on a dying world. Scraped myself up off the bed early though; feeling the Dedalus factor. Stephen that is, not the myth. I must have been having a few uneasy dreams about those strange, phosphorescent creatures at the other end of the world. I think that all the stress of the past few months is working its way through my dreams on its way out of me. God what magic there is in leaving! I can’t get “A Portrait of the artist…” off my mind. Those arms of ships and roads, beckoning, just like I feel except with me it’s those silver fingers, beckoning & quivering in the heat of runways. The roaring throats of jet engines; sounding over clouds and mountains. Yeah. Give me some of that alright. I’ll be in ‘killa’ in three days, feeling the heat of that smithy on my face, forging away with the best of them.
