Strolling

Calliope woke me very early this morning and I got up if only to retrieve the two pairs of balled socks she had transferred overnight from my sock draw to the sofa downstairs. I put this cat-induced start to good use, and pushed on with the second draft. The first draft is just a blurt, and for me the second trawl through is where you turn it into something which seems to be a story. This followed by protracted and therapeutic ironing.

With still-rigid neck, I opted not to go to the gym, but instead had a two hour walk late in the sunshine of the afternoon. Sauntered along the seafront and then up above the sheer bit behind the marina. Noticed You are not alone signs with telephone numbers for The Samaritans, so I guess a few have quietly chucked themselves from it. I did not take a camera, nor an iPod and actually found this pure thinking time very useful, walking along in a world of my own listening to the jukebox in my head.

A quiet and blameless night indoors. Read yet again the HG Wells' story The Door in the Wall, which is simply haunting.