I was away in France, so as usual I took a few books with me including Electric Eden which I enjoyed tremendously, there are mistakes but anyone in my cohort who likes electric and modern folk will enjoy it. On the way through I found Mighty Baby, I didn't listen to them at the time, what a shame, it sounds as though the Dead mated with the Beach Boys, here's Egyptian Tomb.

It's clear [to me] that our 'rulers' are disconnected from from our interests and that the current incarnation of capitalism is not serving us or the planet. I'm rather heartened to see the Occupy xxx's springing up, we who sometimes thought that younger people only lived for their iphones.

It's interesting also, in this context, that Canary Wharf is, in fact. private realm [like most of the 'Olympic', synonym for corruption, park, synonym for land-grab]. So protesters can't easily go and stay on there. However, I have some ideas for that, and probably so do others.

Anyway, it's winter nearly now, but spring is coming.

I decided to 'work' for a while. It really cuts into the daytime TV but nichevo, no matter, Jeremy Kyle will have to survive without me for a while.

So, I'm now in an industrial park at the other end of town in a line of of computers, high-end, two monitors [of course] hacking away at some working, huge and slightly raggedy-arse code base in my favourite language, Perl. My main 'job' is sniffing out stuff that doesn't work, plenty of it comes in each day.

And of course, the Perl world being quite small, I'm with a few absent friends and new friends with juvenile tee-shirts like mine. We're geeks, you see, the new rulers of the world. My tee has a picture of Muttley on it. A young Polish lady in Greggs Stratford where I was busy buying a sausage roll recognised him. I was impressed, the Wacky Races were years before her DOB.

Food is absent in the park, but a sushi lady [o genki desu ka, sushi lady] comes each Friday to cheer us up. Meanwhile I'm eating salad, ready for Christmas.

Anyway, a few months more and back to indolence.

Some folks over in west London had the bad taste to offer me some contract work. I was sure that I'd bombed the interview too. Now stuck in London for six months but more affluent than usual. Could set up 'Die Kitty Die' charity, for example [that's almost a joke, for those waiting with a shedload [is that the right first vowel, I wonder?] of opprobrium].

Could go out on a date and pay for posh food, but it's usually pretentious rubbish in London, isn't it? I especially hate the Conran-style ones, uncomfortable and small portions. Ate half a roast duck with D in a Chinese boui-boui in Queensway, abandoning attempt to fight our way into Four Seasons. Cholesterol now coursing through blood vessels.

Work itself looks pleasant, acres of Perly spaghetti to untangle with some very relaxed people, some of whom I know already, they're refugees from a major broadcaster.

Sunny again today, packed banana bread, water, an apple and set off in a large loop, Limehouse -> Stratford -> Leyton -> Walthamstow -> St James and then across the marshes via Coppermill Lane to Springfield Park -> Hackney Downs -> Bethnal Green and back to Limehouse, about three hours of it. Stopped at Walthamstow marshes to eat blackberries from two huge stands, resisted temptation to give seriously picking yuppies a slap too, must be growing up.

Then ate shepherds pie and chips at the MK, not my favourite but I needed a serious amount of grease and comfort food. The Anchor isn't open on Sundays. Was thinking about the Anglo-Asian in Stokie, great buffet on Sunday but I would need an accomplice to fully enjoy that.

Looking at this posts, I must seem like a food-obsessed Singaporean. Well, I had some good training, lah.

Somehow thinking about Dr. John today, my cousin recently told me about this cover of this by Paul Weller, big nod towards Voodoo Child in the approach, too.

It's a pretty good summer day, I've cycled to Purfleet [where according to legend queen Elizabeth I looked at her ships leaving to fight Spain, said 'Oh my poor fleet'). I came back on the train and ate at the Curry Hut in Chrisp Street market, two posh customers. I hope this isn't happening to Poplar, too.

Anyway, this kind of weather and these cycle rides into my past, made me think of Fairport and Sandy Denny again. For those younger ones who wonder about why we thought it was a golden age, listen to this, this and especially this.Then go and look for some more.

She died when she was 31, and we still miss her. Remind you of anything that happened recently, does it? What a waste.

As someone said, somewhere else, accidentally quoting Ian Drury [who lived just around the corner in Waldergrave, I lived in Engayne qv Lord Upminster] 'what a waste'. I feel the same about this as I felt about Hendrix, and it's a nearer subject since I've been a 'friend of Bill' [look that up too] since I was 30. I was pretty nearly dead then too, would have been by 35, deffo as the kids say now.

So I feel that this was avoidable too, and very hard [for me, because it's something I was intimately acquainted with] to watch whilst it was happening. Really sorry and sad.

Tearing myself away from interesting problems involving REST, JSON and multidimensional hashes [the story of some of my life] and other things that 'sad' people think about, I decided to go ride a few buses and walk in the 'far' East End, West Ham [Jambon de l'Est], East Ham [no I'm not going to repeat that joke] and Barking [OK, I am, I lied: Aboyant]. I took a 115 to Canning Town and started to walk towards Stratford, then got soaked.

OK, OK, you say where's the psychogeography part? Incidentally, if you know about multidimensional hashes, psychogeography and speak bad French like a proper Parisian [che pas, ma meufe etc.], I'd really like to meet you. Being rich would help, I plan to pass my declining years as a toy-wrinkly. Enough already.

Psychogeography and 'la derive' were the invention of the Situationists [qv especially Guy Debord] who were sort-of Marxists and urbanists. It's simple, they walked randomly around the city, experiencing it viscerally, as I did this afternoon.

The postcodes I traversed are sad, divided by huge roads [hey, there's only poor people here, let's put a road though], run down buildings and shops, mainly fried chicken and betting shops [to take the last of your money]. However a lot of the people, especially leaving the Methodist church in Barking are happy and have better smiles than the smug middle classes in E14.

I got soaked again walking from Barking to East Ham and laughed with an Indian guy under a sweet shop awning. It's only water, I told him. I was hoping for a Mr Whippy [no BSDM jokes, too obvious] in East Ham, there are usually about 3 on a Sunday afternoon, but the rain had obviously discouraged ice-cream, wny? it's doesn't matter to me, I used to go [stoned, admittedly] to Marine Ices in Camden mid-winter and eat a sundae. No-one really understands about sugar.

At East Ham, I got on a 115 and rode triumphantly back to Limehouse, looking at the ruin of Plaistow and the entrance to the Greenway. Back in the nest, I ate cheese on toast on a cheese-topped bun [cheese is nearly as important as sugar, isn't it?] and now I'm ready for REST, JSON etc. is today Groundhog Day? Answers on a postcard to Santa, because I don't mind, I like cheese, sugar and esoteric computer stuff.

To apply for some research, I've just got myself a British Library reader's pass. What a feast, can spend the rest of my life in there, coming out only for sandwiches and a quick meal at Govinda's or the Bhelpoori.

Wandering through the east end, one is obliged to cuff more and more of these artfully untidy souls away. I probably need to leave for Catford or Southend [if only to annoy my more fastidious middle class friends]. I'm so glad, somewhat like an auto-immune disease, the young-uns have decided that these folks are wrong too.