Please explain, concisely and without evasion, Archimedes, what you are going to do about your flat? No quibbling. To the point. Exactly what ?

If only I knew.

All I have is this vague notion that one day I will move somewhere deeper into leafy, cool, West London.

I am pinched for space. There is nothing that is n't occupied by something, but it's not merely a spatial question, there's a brooding, emotional, anxiety inducing set of questions buzzing around the edges of my concentration: the neighbourhood, down at heel, characterful...but the kind of characters I no longer find entertaining or bohemian; a palpable air of menace everywhere; a shimmering state of tension.

The stimulus obviously is only going to come from me. Nothing truer than the statement that we are the architects of our own fortune. But when?