Dreaming of the Untouchable.

The young woman in the Met gift shop saw me admiring something or other – I don’t remember what – and engaged me in polite conversation.

‘Are you English?’ she asked eventually.

‘I am. Are you American?’

‘Ha! Yeah.’

‘Small world.’

This is nonsense of course, and incomprehensible to all save two.

My moods are becoming stranger these days. A week ago I lost my mind temporarily – I saw it floating away from my head (to the left) and it took an effort of will to get it back. A singular and interesting experience you must admit, and one that took a while to get over.

Nevertheless, it bothers me sometimes that you can never know life until you feel her breath on your cheek.

I wonder why the world contains so much that is so disgustingly horrible, and why the low-moaning wind of winter chills the spirit so comprehensively.