Friday 30th October

The couple behind me, as I took this photograph at Borough Markets, were squabbling about whether these were partridges or pheasants. The man, who was on the partridge side of the debate, ended the argument with the words: 'silly woman'.
Clearly he was the silly man.
But I didn't want to intervene.

Thursday 29th October

I took this photo in Pimlico, on the way to the Tate Britain with an old friend of mine who I hadn't seen for a very long time. If it wasn't for the autumnal afternoon light I could just imagine Dick Van Dyke chim-chiminey-ing his way across these rooftops.

Wednesday 28th October

Here are Gilbert and George, grandfathers of Spitalfields, flying across the streets of E1. Gilbert and George live two streets away from us, in a street with Hawksmoor's Christ Church at one end and Brick Lane at the other. I met George at the post office once, who politely began a conversation with me about why I was on crutches. I see him buying milk from time to time from the newsagency on Commercial Street. And Gilbert, on his separate route to the restaurant in Dalston that they dine at together every evening. Most days they eat lunch at 11am, at Rossis, just beneath our flat. I like this image of them, and the idea of the pair being all-seeing, all-knowing almost mythical members of the Spitalfields community.

Tuesday 27th October

I've spent a lot of time aimlessly looking out the window today. I bought these slides on Raoul's birthday from the lovely gentleman with the antiques store above the Apple Mac repair shop on Commercial Street. The shop had been closed for a long time over summer, with an ever-changing mysterious window display that I imagine the owner working on in the depths of the night so it is different for the people who stop to look in on their way to work every morning. We can see the clock face of Christ Church from our window. Which is helpful when they remember to turn back from British Summer time, which until yesterday they hadn't.

Monday 26th October

It was at St Paul’s tube station that I met Daniel, or rather, that Daniel met me. Daniel, a self-professed Italian playboy, insisted that he accompany me across the Millenium Bridge on my way to the Tate Modern. When we got to the end of the bridge, Daniel asked if he could join me, to which I replied that the exhibition cost £10 and that I wouldn’t mind just going by myself if that was ok. At this point Daniel stamped one foot, told me that I was just like an Italian girl – ‘boring!’ – and stormed off back in the direction of St Paul’s. This is the view from where I stood as he marched his way across the Thames. I like to think of him as a sort of ferryman, forever going back and forth across the river that divides the world of the living (the Tate) from the world of the dead (St Paul’s).

Sunday 25th October

Today is the day that we turn our clocks back for the winter. Raoul and I went coat shopping to commiserate. Oxford Street on a Sunday is a horrible place, all jostling crowds and rustling shopping bags. This was taken just off a side street where, if you take the time to look up away from the busy streets, there is no trace of human life at all.