As a result of the haiku writing, I became a member of this group blog where I am able to post haikus along with a bunch of other wordsmiths. I pledged to observe the American obscenity rules and avoid swearing, sexual references, Mexicans and Canadians.

But, fate plays its part, and while it suits me to stick to seventeen syllables per day – I enjoy the discipine, adopting a structure for a month is something I have done ever since starting to blog – things are happening which I want to write about.. long live Deek Deekster, he made me into who am I not today.

I lost my gold fish, and a haiku wasn’t enough. It’s a hollow antique from Kings Lynn, a fisherman’s charm designed to keep sailors from drowning. Hollie gave it to me, she the most tormented of all my lovers, the biggest and maddest of them all. She’s dead now – didn’t even reach 30 years old – and wearing that I felt somehow an element of her strong protection. I lost it sometime this morning, dressed in running gear, walking with GGF to school, then jogging back. The water was off this morning – I was torn between the need to get the supply re-established and wanting to retrace my 2 miles of steps in a futile search. I did go and look, but too late – if it was visible, someone picked it up. Gold and silver too attractive a proposition to ignore for a passer-by. It’s either submerged beneath wet leaves, or in a stranger’s pocket.

It is the end of an era. I am moving from this flat very soon, in a matter of weeks and this kind of underlines it. I keep reaching for my small fish, familiar on the chain around my neck, which now feels empty, like this home soon will be.

I made this video in Sheringham Road, N7.

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“Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford,” quoted Boswell of Samuel Johnson. But he didn’t live in Islington, 2007, with the lifestyle becoming ever more precarious.

This weekend, a long muse on the mixed feelings I have about where I live, the London Borough of Islington, an idyllic urban bubble in the middle of the insane British capital.

We haven’t seen such dark, water-bearing summer skies as this for a long time. It’s difficult to concentrate – we’re not used to this monsoon weather, at this latitude.

Still, there I was a few days ago, framing some sun-and-shadow which was looking particularly nice from my study window, and on cue, a couple of bikes came into view, propelled by the legs of children. I kept the camera still; I was four floors up and silent; but as the second child passes through the frame, notice how she waves for the camera. I didn’t notice her noticing me, but then, I was busy with the camera.

I’m now wondering whether either her parents, the police or an invoice is going to show up.

Four youngsters report from an eco-friendly city farm.

They also got the chance to meet some of the animals and interview manager Mary Whiting.