Firstly, a big thank you to Neil from Inkadelic Tattooing in Ibiza for the reminder of the sunsets I am missing.

Sat on his terrace looking at the sun going down, on the first real day of freedom that he has known in weeks.

Lockdown has been a good discipline for me. Isolation in particular. No one to bother me, the shop silent and undisturbed, my bed of Transylvanian earth to comfort me.

In the late 11^th Century I was living in Minehead; Mynheafdon as it was then known, and I would often meet our friendly landowner, generally as he toured his estate on horseback. The horse was always a little jittery around me, and yet there was a familiarity about EAlfgar, the Earl of Mercia, as if I had seen him before.

It was a likeness, something around the eyes, and as a vampire you remember faces, eyes; and necks in particular. Past faces often appeared as I dreamt, vivid memories, not haunting, but their puzzled faces looking at me as if searching for a reason. It was in one such dream that she appeared, as I had originally seen her years before.

That first time, she was astride a horse riding through Coventry clad only in her long hair. I was a tailor at the time, and the shop was shuttered that day to allow her to ride through the streets, unseen. However, from behind the shutters I had stolen a glance, mesmerised by the shape of her neck I hatched a plan to visit her after nightfall, she could be one of us, one of the twelve…

But, where would we be without coincidences? EAlfgar was her son, and she Lady Godiva! The tailor who stole a glance, was apparently, Tom, ‘Peeping Tom’!

These days I am out early in the mornings, and yes, I know that as a vampire I should be destroyed by the sun’s light, however like hangovers and due to some strange, genetic twist of fate, I remain unaffected.

Sadly, I am unable to fly at the moment, and it’s best that I don’t morph into a bat at this most difficult time for these delightful creatures. I use the quieter times of the day when there are fewer people, mainly so I’m not overwhelmed by temptation, it is much easier to eat when there is a chance I might not be disturbed. It’s not as though what I crave can be delivered by Deliveroo or Uber Eats…

I meander over past hunting grounds far from home. Hampstead Heath, Alexandra Palace, Highgate Cemetery, and the Parkland Walk which is London’s unsung highline, and in my opinion a much better version than the one in New York.

It’s not just exercise, but also to check that none of my past indiscretions have resurfaced, even along the canal. It is now so quiet and still, that you can see all the way to the bottom, scooters, Boris bikes, toilet seats and dozens of traffic cones… nothing to implicate or incriminate me.

Once lockdown has come to an end, I will return to the silence of Arizona and my home in Roden Crater. This year I will rest, take the opportunity to eat in a healthier fashion and save my energy for next year when Burning Man returns and I can make the journey to the big party in Black Rock City…

By then, it might may be business as usual… as if it never was!

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