of oysters and crocodiles

"all the little oysters stood/and waited in a row"- lewis carroll, the walrus and the carpenter

in my case they were dumped into a guiness and steak pie and cooked by the beefy juices for two minutes. a most unique way to eat the little buggers, it must be said. speaking of unique things to eat (or, indeed, drink), they don't come stranger than this:



i prayed for barrels, and lo did they appear. self-imagined nostalgia is a speciality of mine.



it's days like this, when the air is crisp and the sky is a shade of pastel grey that london seems most like it is meant to be. the people bustle, but they do so alone. the city seems at once full of, and devoid of all life. it's the noisiest silence you'll ever hear.