Here in the countryside village of Tilmanstone, Kent, in a Manor House once owned by a family who were Fascist organizers in the UK. I’m staying with David and Francis. Francis picked me up yesterday at Heathrow on my arrival from Iceland on an early morning flight. I was in Iceland for three days only, having flown there from New York on the 13th mainly to visit with Loki.

Everybody slept in until noon, something I haven’t done since I can remember! Usually up at 7:30 am. I was exhausted from jet-lag and a late night dinner with friends in Reykjavík and just the accumulated stress of travel. David had also just returned from New York City — on tour with a group of his students at the Winchester School of Art — we had already met at my friends Stefan and Ellen’s flat in Tribeca last week — but that’s another story…

Today we went to Deal, a village on the coast near Dover, for sandwiches at a caf.

There is a feeling which persists in England that making a sandwich interesting, attractive, or in any way pleasant to eat is something sinful that only foreigners do.

“Make ‘em dry” is the instruction buried somewhere in the collective national consciousness, “make ‘em rubbery. If you have to keep the buggers fresh, do it by washing ‘em once a week.”

It is by eating sandwiches in pubs at Saturday lunchtime that the British seek to atone for whatever their national sins have been. They’re not altogether clear what those sins are, and don’t want to know either. Sins are not the sort of things one wants to know about. But whatever sins there are are amply atoned for by the sandwiches they make themselves eat. — Douglas Adams

Then on to Canterbury for a stroll around the exterior grounds of the famous cathedral. We also visited with Lizzie and Jeffrey and their son Thomas not far from the cathedral. Jeffrey is a long-time member of the Brit-Rock group Caravan, is a member of Penguin Cafe, and is currently touring with the French pop legend Reneau. Thomas is nine and is into hypnotism and Pharaohs and he showed me a family album of photos of his grandfather who brought the first Model T Fords to Chile in the early parts of the 20th Century…

the neoscenes web space gathers its first hits — don’t remember exactly when I first uploaded some pages — and no archive of that time either — pity, didn’t have enough memory then! ;-0 ooooooooo