Warped facades...

and faded grandeur. A riverside walk, a time to collect thoughts, and then abandon them, to set them adrfit upon the afternoon Spring Tides, one of the last of that particular vernal variety. Just 3 hours ago I sat with Matty Dread in the tacky cafe, situated on the far side of the suitably plastic 'public space' at the head of Butlers Wharf, almost underneath Tower Bridge. Radio 5 Live blared from the owners stereo, punctuated by the sound-splurge of the milk steamer, the pre-match round-up heralding the second-half of the afternoon. As the plates of scrambled egg on toast emerged, I pledged again to do this, to finally publish something online.

There is no point in waiting to 'launch' the elusive j2b website before I begin to create content for it, and there's no point continually recording entries in a notebook when I can publish them here, if only to copy them over later. And so I've returned home, ostensibly to put my room into some coherent order, and to publish, and be damned. So here is the prologue, and who knows what will follow, but it has begun at least, and at last.