Another morning, another deep sigh as I swiped through the headlines.

Latimer Road is not an area of town that I know well.

I’ve dipped in and out of W Ldn on various work assignments in a different life. But it’s not my part of town.

The landscape looks very familiar thought o what I see around me in Sunny Stockwell. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like if I was awoken to see one of the blocks around me burning down.

I was going to bash out a Brixton Buzz story early in the morning about plans for a new tower on the edges of Larkhall Park. It seemed a silly thing to do given the circumstances.

I had a light working day.

Dotty and Daisy disappeared into the garden to sleep.

I dipped in and out of the news. I reached a stage where seeing a burning tower block on repeat was in danger of sending me into a desensitised state.

Commentary on the England ICC match replaced the West London scenes.

I ended up working in complete silence.

The only positive experience for Wednesday was some fruit picking in the garden late in the day.

SHIT THE BED #homegrown

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At least I’ve got my breakfast sorted for the morning.

Not a good day.

I’m heading back to the Fair City tomorrow to spend some time with the folks.

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