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_________________________ I went for an Autumnal walk today in Brockwell Park, Herne Hill. Given that it's Autumn, here's a poem by John Clare of that name: The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still, On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill, The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot; Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.   The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread, The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead. The fallow fields glitter like water indeed, And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed. Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun, And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run; Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

Food Squares  by Oren Ezuz. Book Launch. Autumn is taking a real hold of the air around North London. I have my cardigan buttoned as high as it will go, my keffiyeh is wound tightly around my neck and my trademark grey beanie is pulled down as far as it can go over my head without making me look abnormal. My journey in the relative cold, accompanied by my friend Jeff Vanderpool, is headed in the direction of a small bar-cum-gallery called  Macondo  on Hoxton Square. My purpose to attend the launch of Oren Ezuz's photobook Food Squares. Upon arrival at Macondo, having ascertained the whereabouts of Raj Poonia, from whom I received the invite, I take seat and commence to take in my surroundings.  The level of magic is just right . Ezuz is a man short in stature and who at first seems fused into the gathered crowd, but, upon Raj's beckoning to him, an interesting, entertaining and thoroughly engaging artist emerges. It is then perhaps appropriate that, like the artist, the b