11/11/11

... had no mystical or numerological significance for me, as it seems to have done for some people. My Orc foot somewhat better today, though I had to cancel a planned yomp through the countryside this weekend with Anton. An enjoyable stint in Tavistock Square and especially nice to work with Nicola again after a few years, as she'd given me a copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany.

Trains screwed up from St Panrcas, which necessitated cramming into the tube for a session of claustrophobia exposure therapy across London in the evening rush hour. Once at Victoria got the fast train home.

I have been carrying a small black stone from Moulin Huet in Guernsey around with me. I read something in Owen Meany about how the indigenous people of North America thought everything had a soul, not just people. I found myself posing the question 'what if this stone had a soul?' And ended up thinking stony soul thoughts all the way home.

To the Shahi, where beer was drunk and a chilli-freighted curry consumed, and the world generally put to rights with my lovely Lorraine.

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