Uh oh. Realising now that I am at an age where a wobbly train means constant vigilance against dozing.
A slow and wobbly train on a slow and wobbly day.
Weirdly middle-class Lovecraftian angst as a genre.
Waking up from: navigating a vast and serpentine bathroom with freestanding shower-wall baffles, in search of a small box of compostable recycling bags at the other end. An ominous sense that someone else was in there.
There’s a tiny little half-hidden cupboard here that I apparently exiled some unfavoured glasses to ~fifteen years ago. I wonder what adventures they’ve been on.
Deep cleaning parts of my kitchen I don’t think I’ve even seen as long as I’ve lived here. My eyebrows are sweating.
Mad October Dreams (early start this year).
Part of a massive group of middle aged men being taught to swim in a pool beside the sea, while planning for an all-belly tattoo that I didn’t really want. Oddly comradely.
(Unintentionally) failing to tend the clean sock stockpile -> (unintentionally) wearing waterproof socks as last option -> (unintentionally) emptying a basin of water over my feet.
There was a victory of sorts here today, but I don’t think I can claim it.
A very pebbley rain.
The perfectly normal realisation that you’ve been mournfully humming the slowed-down Tethered Mix of I Got 5 On It from Us.
Possibly for days.
This one at least partly rain-induced. May not count for professional scoring.
Into the days of waking up in darkness again.
Untold hundreds of travel adapters.
Apparently I’ve been keeping a bunch of broken desk lamps and old DVD players in The Cupboard That I Studiously Ignore. Bonus: found a copy of Moon that I didn’t remember owning.
The real pro-strat has been in cunningly only buying Coke-Zero-shaped books for the last 15 years.
Would it be weird to pack books in 24-pack Coke Zero boxes?
Considering moving house and suddenly my year’s-worth hoard of undumped Amazon boxes seems like logistical genius.
One of those slick-grey starts to the day that feels infinitely long.
You could move the clock but you’d definitely need special shoes.
Drama-queen clouds over the lough earlier. Not visible: walking-in-the-rain levels of humidity.
On a train. Literally brought sweatbands with me.