Bunhill Fields ...

Recently, I visited Bunhill Fields - I was loitering in Islington, the day after Jay and Bridget's joint party - I'd bopped joyously with Sophie and Rosie during the party, relishing the Lea Valley Delta sound of King Toadfish and the All Weather Riders - Jay was on keyboards, wearing a snappy trilby -

The party was held in an old waterworks - splendid twisting pipes coiled above us - Sophie approved - this is the coolest space - 

Leaving with Sophie and Rosie, I'd met Paul from Penrith - I unwisely returned to the party, boozing shamelessly -

The midnight tube journey was a weird adventure - I saw extraordinary beings - the immense city was an arena for fearful activity -

The next morning, I wandered the pavements, northwards up City Road - it was then that I saw Bunhill Fields -

I passed through the gates, walking under dark trees, still dripping rainwater - closely packed graves were marked by worn gravestones - one slender stone was inscribed with flowing script, the letters trailing fantastic curlicues - at the top of the stone was a delicate allegorical carving -

I stared at cherubs and skulls - spirits flickered in the watery air - there was a paved area, in the heart of the burial ground - I saw the tomb of John Bunyan - I remembered reading Pilgrim's Progress as a boy - there, on the side of the tomb, was Christian, with his burden - how many times had I seen around me aspects of the City of Destruction? -

Then I saw William Blake's gravestone - also remembering Catherine Sophia, his wife - my spirits lifted - I thought of them, naked in their garden, surrounded by angels -

I thought Defoe's obelisk out of place in the company of these two prophets - but I still had a great affection for the inky scribbler -