Oh oof. Another cold has crept into the household, and I started coughing this morning. I'm expecting my parents to call me and tell me I should stop getting colds, as if I were buying them in a discount store because they are cheaper in a multi-pack. What kind of freak immune system could shake off all the colds that come to London from all over the world? I know people who never usually get colds who pick them up reliably every time they visit London.
Yesterday I went on the tube, a rare occasion, and as often it was a sociable affair: being held in place by strangers on every side, all taller than me, and most of them politely agreeing that it is okay for me to fall into them without notice as long as I don't grab any of their body parts. Every now and then the doors open and someone shouts in an authoritative voice (a bit like a priestess of Dune) "Move down, there is still space in here for two more passengers!" - That sort of ride.
The highlight of the journey for me was when I was stuck in a deadlocked crowd - hundreds of people trying to get up to a platform from the district line while everyone from that platform wanted to get down to the Jubilee line via the same stairs - and I spotted a completely clear tunnel marked NO ENTRY with completely empty stairs up to the same platform at the other end, so I broke free and walked that way... and noticed that the whole crowd was following me. It felt great to trigger that sort of sudden mass movement, but also a bit like a scene from a zombie movie.
Anyway, whatever, I hope this is a mild cold.
I've been buying fountain pens and converters and bottles of ink, inspired by the purchase of a new notebook that reminded me of the first one I ever had. Same sort of size and paper. I suddenly felt like having one like that again, a book to note down random things all the time, anything that catches my attention, just to have a map of my brain as it is these days. And also to put stray thoughts to rest sometimes - someone told me once that it's a good idea to just write down distractions to get them out of the way to clear the mind for composing stories. It seems to work, often, or if not it sometimes unlocks interesting little fragments of thought that cling to those distractions like seaweed when I grab them and drag them up.
Anyway, I felt like taking those notes in different inks, I've never liked the look of pages and pages of ultramarine blue writing, reminds me of school.
I think I'll spend the day trying out all my old inks to see which ones are still good, and maybe even find out what they might be good for.