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skyringEventually I find an intersection big enough to warrant traffic lights and here, outside a building bearing the unlikely name of The Dun Cow, I find the sign I'm looking for. "OLD KENT ROAD SE1" it says from a handy niche in the façade of the Cow. Everything bar shelter, and I've got a supply of ziploc bags to cater for that.
But how am I to attach my bagged up book to this convenient, hip-level sign? I've got some skinny stickytape, but something better, something sturdier, something handier would be the thing here.
And look, just across the intersection is a suburban iconoclysm - the supermarket, everywhere the same, everywhere different. I'm sure it will supply the answer, and a great deal else, should I desire it.
As it happens, desire is satisfied by three purchases, though not without a good deal of browsing beforehand. A small but useful tape dispenser from stationery, a set of plastic clothespegs from laundry and the confectionery department quenches a desire of the flesh - a small bag of licorice allsorts.
Homegrown allsorts in Australia are sickening representations of the real thing - far too sweet for my taste, and imported English brands are scarce and expensive. But Tesco brand allsorts are just the thing, my tongue declares, and I munch one or two… handfuls as I head back to my release point.
Bliss! Even the onset of a shower as I wait to cross a sidestreet isn't going to spoil the pleasure of this moment. Humming to myself, I lock "Freedom Road" into its protective bag, peg it up onto the sign, and step back to take a photograph.
And that's the first step onto the board. I wonder if anybody will come along and understand the significance of that little purple card on the cover of a book hanging from a street sign. And if they do, what will they make of it? Go on, call me mad or obsessive. Travelling around the world to give away a trashy little book. How much more ridiculous can you get than that?
And with a sublime sense of the silliness of the situation, I cross Old Kent Road, popping a black-centred pink sweetie into my mouth, looking for a bus that will save me the weary trudge to Whitechapel Road.
But how am I to attach my bagged up book to this convenient, hip-level sign? I've got some skinny stickytape, but something better, something sturdier, something handier would be the thing here.
And look, just across the intersection is a suburban iconoclysm - the supermarket, everywhere the same, everywhere different. I'm sure it will supply the answer, and a great deal else, should I desire it.
As it happens, desire is satisfied by three purchases, though not without a good deal of browsing beforehand. A small but useful tape dispenser from stationery, a set of plastic clothespegs from laundry and the confectionery department quenches a desire of the flesh - a small bag of licorice allsorts.
Homegrown allsorts in Australia are sickening representations of the real thing - far too sweet for my taste, and imported English brands are scarce and expensive. But Tesco brand allsorts are just the thing, my tongue declares, and I munch one or two… handfuls as I head back to my release point.
Bliss! Even the onset of a shower as I wait to cross a sidestreet isn't going to spoil the pleasure of this moment. Humming to myself, I lock "Freedom Road" into its protective bag, peg it up onto the sign, and step back to take a photograph.
And that's the first step onto the board. I wonder if anybody will come along and understand the significance of that little purple card on the cover of a book hanging from a street sign. And if they do, what will they make of it? Go on, call me mad or obsessive. Travelling around the world to give away a trashy little book. How much more ridiculous can you get than that?
And with a sublime sense of the silliness of the situation, I cross Old Kent Road, popping a black-centred pink sweetie into my mouth, looking for a bus that will save me the weary trudge to Whitechapel Road.
