This is the calendar.
This is three-or-so years of being a foreigner here (and never forgetting it because the first sound I let slip gives it away), of being in the privileged/uncomfortable space of not-belonging, which is both freeing and despair-inducing. Of watching things to see how they work and not taking anything for granted. Chimney pots and terraced houses becoming ingrained in my thinking and being. Getting to love this place in a strange way (not like home and not like anywhere else; it has its particular love). Recording what I thought and what I saw.
So I took my drawings and thinkings and made a book of days of them. A calendar. Four months are there if you click the picture (you can see them larger via flickr/clicking the picture above). The others…well, those are a surprise. But there are deckchairs and English fashion, poppies blooming, an allotment, chimney pots on grey afternoons, the architecture of my favorite railway station. And then some.