The End of the Innocence

From the top of Primrose Hill, what’s left of London that’s not underwater remains asleep, still quietness wrapped in dawn’s rapidly lightening embrace. Sarah straightens, vertebrae clicking back into alignment, before she gets back on the ancient yet indestructible tricycle. She’s hungry, which means that it’s high time to find another suitable community of post Corporation War survivors who might be prepared to offer nourishment in return for enlightenment and a song.

To the east a large antenna rises from dense woodland, evidence of wood-smoke from a kiln or oven. There’ll be something that needs repairing, because there always is, and maybe at least the chance to exchange entertainment or education for breakfast, even if there’s no tech to fix. With the last of her camping equipment stowed in the bike’s massive and precisely divided forward- mounted container, she’s riding towards a new day with optimism.

Who knows what the morning will present.

Moveable Press Piece

Yesterday was, I think it is fair to say, a bit of personal re-alignment. Accepting you can do nothing to fix the past except ensure that mistakes are never repeated, that letting go of guilt does not absolve responsibility, are important facts to state. Making good on your mistakes however is another matter entirely. We’ve started on that too. It’s all good.

Nah, that’s not necessary. It makes more sense to work than navel gaze. The To Do List isn’t getting any smaller when I sit here talking a good game instead of actually playing it. I am obliged however to post last night’s exercise progress, because it was, is and continues to be the most worthwhile physical endeavour I have ever undertaken.

This is beginning to look an awful lot like genuine progress.

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