find your groove...

a red-painted rail separates hundreds of people every couple of minutes walking in opposite directions down the tunnel 20 or so metres below street-level between the Northern and Central lines at Tottenham Court Road station. amongst them i'm nobody. a man in a black coat in a sea of muted colours enjoying the anonymity. move with the flow, follow the tunnel right and down again to the westbound line and wait for the next train to come, heralded by the signature breeze that flows past and around the people waiting up and down the long platform. it's less than three minutes away, and there'll be another one a minute or two later. none of this really registers anymore. it's all become routine.

i left the house 20 minutes beforehand. get dressed after having a shower, layer after layer to keep me warm through the night. singlet, long-sleaved shirt, hoodie, trousers, heavy boots, black coat. my hat tops it off and i check myself in the mirror on the other side of the bed. wallet loaded, accessories stowed in their usual pockets, shoulder bag slung and i'm out the door, down the stairs and on the street. i'm at the tube station 30 seconds later. on my right are the terminals where you can top up your Oyster Card. i feed the machine 20 quid to keep me covered for the next week or two, head through the gate and down the escalator to the platform. i've stowed a book in my shoulder-bag, so i pull it out and begin to read while leaning against the wall. i barely look up to get on the train and i don't bother getting comfortable because i'm off again at Kennington - the next stop. crossing through the short corridor separating platforms, there's another train waiting to take me up the Charing Cross branch of the Northern Line, where i get off at Tottenham Court Road station and follow the maze across to the Central Line, the dripping blood picture on the big white book earning the occasional glance from passers-by. The Used is playing on my Portable Sanity Device, keeping me paraxodically calm. no worries, no fuss, no paranoid inspection of maps because i know how to read the signs at a glance now and my feet know where they're going. another chapter goes by and simultaneously 2 other people nearby are closing and stowing their books, marks slipped between the pages by expert fingers and all three of us are standing to exit at Notting Hill Gate.

back on the surface the air is brisk after the air below, warmed by the train's electric motors and the body heat of thousands of commuters. i can't see any signs for the streets and i don't realise until i've gone 50 meters that i've taken the wrong street, so i back-track and get it right the second time. it's not an issue, it barely registers - it's easy to miss the signs and often easier to just head off in a random direction until you see something to tell you what street you exited the station on. the procedure is spinal now. i'd checked and memorised the time for the last service without thinking about it back at Oval Station so i already knew when i'd have to start making tracks. i'm meeting up with a group of random people who've met on Facebook at a mexican restaurant and as usual i'm the first one there, ten or fifteen minutes early. another album starts playing before my phone rings.

dude. i'm here already - where you at? no worries. k, see you in 5. i'll be out the front. soonkbye.

it's 7:03. these are the first words i've spoken all day... or did i mutter to myself in the shower? i don't remember. it's not important. Adnan shows up as advertised, the instigator of the group. Jeff is next - another Aussie who's been country-hopping for the last few years. Laura, a canadian from Vancouver is next by a tiny margin. i've met Adnan and Jeff before, but since Laura's avatar is a carebear we have no idea what we're looking for. i can't talk - mine's a picture of my old steelcaps. Jessica and her friends Anna and Antonia are a step behind - three german girls, each as different from the other as you could get, making 7. introductions made, we're playing the "getting to know you" games you play when complete strangers meet for the first time. we wait, making small talk in the cold for 20 minutes waiting for a table and soon food and margaritas are arriving, conversations shifting back and forth, exchanging stories, cracking jokes and a little play-flirting, fun and games. i'm challenged to up my chili-dose, which i do with a smile on my face. a small, fresh chili from Adnan's drink is put in front of me so i figure, what the fuck? down it goes and i'm sweating, eyes wrapping themselves in tears while i sit there enjoying the burn and sipping gratefully at people's offered drinks. i'm accused of looking "surprisingly composed". hey - it's all amusing.

we get the fuck out (my words) once we've finished ordering seconds and found a really nice, traditional-looking pub on Portobello Rd. where we sink pints and keep exchanging stories until we're kicked out at 11:15. Jeff tells of his travels from Japan to Korea to Canada to Britain and i explain the politics of sharing a room with a platonic friend and how we'd come to be here while people look intrigued at the concept. two different stories that they'd heard of people doing, but never met anyone who had.

"Man, and I thought my broom closet and tiny single bed were bad," Jeff opines.
yeah mate, but at least you can jerk off in peace.
"That's true, and it's one thing I'm REALLY thankful for," he replies while the girls giggle and Adnan looks shocked.

an argument ensues when we get out the door as to where we should go next. the consensus seems to be that we should head somewhere central so that we can all get home ok afterwards. Oxford Circus is declared the next stop, simply because there's plenty nearby, fulfils the "central" requirement and i'm sick of this conversation by now so impose the call. we wind up at a trendy-looking place with terrible beer on tap just off Carnaby st and Regent St that keeps us entertained until 1ish. things were looking interesting between Jeff and Laura - he'd spent his canadian year in Vancouver, so they had lots to talk about, but she'd run into some other friends randomly at the bar. Adnan sat on a couch while i exchanged mandarin swear words for Jessica's german, the other girls giggling at my (admittedly poor) pronunciation, playing with language like it's a toy.

1AM rolls around and the germans are gone. the boys are all tired and ready to book out and Laura rejoins us because she has no idea how to get from Regent St to London Bridge where there's a party going on. we're invited, but the £15 cover charge is too steep. Adnan and i walk her down to The Strand until we find a couple of Night Buses she can use and then there were two - Adnan and i walking across the Thames where we part company and i start the half-hour walk home with a choice selection from the Guitar Hero games playing in my ears. it's cold, but i'm walking fast enough not to notice. without anyone else to slow down for i fall into my long, comfortable stride - the one that i can keep up for most of the day while i cross cities, whistling along to Killswitch Engage, ignoring people's requests for cigarettes or change, not breaking stride, i feign dropping some rubbish in a bin so that i can check behind me but they're gone, far in the other direction.

in the door and up the stairs, Lou and i wave at each other as i come in tired and sweaty. we've not exchanged words in 24 hours now and i'm curious as to what's going on, but not about to rock the boat. i desperately need to shed my layers and get some water into me. there's an episode of Stargate: Atlantis that isn't going to watch itself and another chapter or two of Darkly Dreaming Dexter to read before i'll be ready to sleep and it's already 2:30AM. it's been a great night out but tomorrow i'll have to be productive. i've not washed my sheets since we moved in here over a month ago and i'm over it. the problem is that there's no way to dry them out at home before i'll want to sleep on them again so it'll require a trip to a laundromat. i'm sure the one on Brixton Road will be open on a Sunday afternoon. but that's something to worry about tomorrow when i'm not slightly drunk and exhausted, but in a good mood regardless.

i've found the pace of this city and slotted in nicely and for now that's enough, although a look through the pictures on a particular Facebook account serve to remind me what, and how much, i'm missing. my very own unique monkey clinging to my back. something i say i'll worry about more another day, but will nonetheless keep cropping up in my mind. snooping Facebook was a mistake, but one i can live with and at least won't stop me from getting to sleep tonight. strangely, it still puts a smile on my face which makes it all worth it...