Tonight was one of the rare nights when I saw my friend -- we'll call him O. -- and it was an odd night. We met up with a friend of his who I've always thought has a cruel streak, and I spent much of the night wondering what I was doing, both with them this particular evening, and in England in general. But at the end of the night, as O. was walking to his bike, he mentioned how three years before, he'd lived across from the pub we'd been at, and how it didn't seem that long ago, but how so much had changed. I mentioned that just today I'd been writing about this time last year -- about the first spring day and our walk to Primrose Hill and...
"I know exactly which day you're talking about," he said. "When it gets hot we'll do it again."
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