I’ve been glooming since 6.30 this morning. Probably a bit hungover. I came downstairs and put the radio on for the latest in riots – I mean looting. Not much in London last night, but outbreaks in Manchester and Salford. Interviews with rioterlooters: ‘We get free stuff innit’ (how many interviews for that edited highlight?) Disturbing presence on the streets of vigilantes dressed in white shirts, supposedly ‘guarding our Enfield’. Racist thugs on the streets in South London.

Open A4 envelope from Abbey: pension currently expected at £2300 p.a. Can’t wait. Stare at window for 20 minutes.

To the Patisserie’s garden for coffee, and fiddle with logo ideas for a new client. The sun comes out. Loud male voice and two tiny voices: Ian and his children erupt into the back room. He reads them a story, with uninhibitedly dramatic expression: they squeal and ask questions and are full of life. Gloom gone.

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