London is — a far more crowded city than I remember.

I confess, sometimes I wonder if it is all nothing more than a strange sort of dream. The kind where the world is entirely silent, and you are unsure whether or not you can make a sound yourself. How is it possible for so many people to walk beside each other, close enough to touch, and say not a word to anyone as they go to this place or that place? Even strangers in books are more amiable to each other than this lot.

Still, I suppose there is something to be said for being able to leave the flat whenever I wish.

Finding a good glass of wine here seems an impossible task, though.