After a run of the blackest, lowest rainiest days, the sun is out and it feels sensational, the first hint of spring and am feeling this may be my favourite time of the year, ever. I've been out for a walk and done some posting stuff, annoyed now, because I forgot the new Beatles stamps were out & instead bought a strip of dreary old queens.
The work work is done, dusted and sent. Lots of street talk, I made some notes:
Go out and tear it up
Can't be assed
I like his trainers, I've got them in black
On the same page as (American)
Oh what the fuck
I've kicked off a few times
You know what? (may use this as repeat speech pattern for R)
a bit of a nonce, like
A bit random
well wrong stuff
The decks are now clear to begin again on the final rewrite.
I'm so tempted to take a day out before I begin, because this time it's really going to be head down stuff, once I've started I'm going to nail the rewriting through to the end. As I've said many times before, stopping the work in progress is lethal. It takes me so long to psyche up again. I want to see In the Darkest Hour there May be Light at the Serpentine before it closes. But it wouldn't feel right, scampering into town. Would quite like to take daughter, too, so perhaps at the weekend.
Enough. My lovely new counterthing over there, looking all virginal and empty, is starting to haunt me already.