North Korean Polaroids and Brutalist Bloomsbury

Last night I went to some drinks to celebrate the display of some blurry Polaroids taken in North Korea. The event attracted the kind of people who write about the mysterious totalitarian state, and also the kind of people who like free wine. I had a lovely time chatting to my colleagues in a non-work context. That is to say, bitching, moaning, and saying preposterous things. Liv came along to help. We drank a little too much, and I got home a little too late, to take blurry photos of the cat and accidentally set my phone alarm to 3:30am. 

Tonight feels slightly warmer, like we’ve finally defeated the cold times. I walked down through Bloomsbury taking pictures of Brutalist buildings and reminding myself I live in London. Humans can be like snails or cockroaches, constantly crawling the same routes and eating the same sandwiches out of soothing familiarity. It’s nice to look up sometimes, to notice things you don’t normally notice, and to find a corner of the city that is entirely new. And, preferably, made of concrete.



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