A day that ended with Today in Parliament, in that I did the washing up while listening to MPs on Radio 4 worrying about “our enemies” (they meant China) being able to take control of our buses through smart technology. 

Quite how this would manifest itself, and what the danger would be, was unclear. If a Chinese manufacturer is sending back hot bus data to the motherland, the most they’ll find out is that the 38 goes to Hackney, which is public knowledge anyway: that’s how bus routes work. 

One Tory politician seemed to think that these buses could be “taken over” and remote driven by a dastardly oriental spy at any moment. I washed up a mug with an otter on it, and daydreamed a particularly provincial Speed sequel: Keanu Reeves and Michelle Yeoh trying to stop the K1 from blowing up the Tolworth Tower.

Thursday wasn’t a good day for me. I had much to sort out and achieved almost none of it. I am struggling slightly with scatterbrainitis, exacerbated by bad sleeping (anxiety dreams ahoy!) and a spate of social media doom scrolling. 

I don’t suspect I’m the only person in this particular boat.

If you’re anything other than a fascist or a supporter of the Australian cricket team, the news isn’t exactly a cavalcade of joy at the moment – but it’s infuriating nonetheless.

I will try to do better, and put my mind on something other than hopelessness and my attention on anything but adding a tiny bit more profit to our billionaire internet overlords by looking at a video of a cat or whatever. (I saw lots of cats, and also a talking raven).

Tomorrow, I fight back, and do something practical and useful with my solidarity.

What else? I spoke to my lovely friend in America, Lauren, who is, like a lot of people I know, struggling. We talked a bit about the horrific murder of a legal observer by Trump’s marauding “immigration officers”, and the mood of the country right now, especially from the perspective of a migrant. “No one trusts each other, and [as a white person] when I meet people from other communities, they are understandably wary of me. The mistrust and paranoia Trump has brought to the country in such a short amount of time…”.

I’m paraphrasing, but the truth is there.

I also saw, very briefly, Joe, an acquaintance of mine from folk choir, who was on his way to a session in Lewes. Joe seems to go to a different folk-adjacent thing every single day, whether it’s a gig, a shanty night, a wassail, or the murder of a Christian policeman in an enormous wicker man. He was excited by my Long Man of Wilmington hat, and I’ll see him again on Saturday for the Hurstpierpoint wassail. 

It was a nice little reminder, after a too-isolated day, that there are lovely people out there, and I’ve built a good little community (or series of overlapping communities) down here. Part of me will be forever a Londoner, and I’m startled to be without that anonymity that comes with a big and messy world city. But I don’t mind bumping into friends from time to time, and this is starting to happen almost as regularly as it did when I lived in Hackney fifteen years ago. I feel like I almost belong.