A light aircraft just dropped out of the sky, enmeshed, literally, in its own trail of propaganda. Over our own heads are helicopters and, down in the square below, hundreds of office workers have congregated for a fire drill.
We are booking my birthday meal and discussing people’s relationships: how friends are feeling; what might happen in future.
I have made an Earl Grey tea with an out-of-date tea bag. Now it’s back to work.
The sun is out. Tonight we will drink.
Things go up. Things come down. It’s how they land that counts; the state we’re all in.
MW Bewick 