I have spent much (relatively speaking) time pondering about why I have not been regular with my blogging and why I simply can't think of things to write about. This is the answer I arrived at... The short walk from the railway station to home was the hotbed of inspired thought and general grey-cell activity. Now that I have been completely deprived of those 5.5 to 6 minutes, I realise I have far less brain activity on the Utopian front.
In an attempt to remedy this I have decided to undertake short walks on M.Drive even if my ankle is paining, as it is today. Although this is ostensibly a method of ensuring I don't fall off to sleep after dinner, I hope it will culminate in something of greater significance...
"He's the one who likes all the pretty songs,
And he likes to sing along,
And he likes to shoot his gun,
But he knows not what it means..."
In Bloom by Nirvana
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