The only thing of note which happened to me over the past twenty four hours was that I had my hair cut. I dislike having my hair cut because it makes my head look a funny shape and that’s disturbing. It occurs to me that somebody needs to invent a pill which stops your hair growing so you never need to have it cut, and then your head would never be a funny shape.
I did ruminate a little on the YouTube respondent who said
of me: ‘This dude is a time traveler.’ (Note the American spelling. Word doesn’t
like me typing it and insists on putting a second ‘l’ in. I have to keep
slapping its hand and correcting its correction.)
So, it took me back to my childhood when I had a picture book with several illustrated stories in it. One was about a man wearing a Homburg hat who played the trumpet quietly on rain-drenched city streets in the middle of the night, and while he did so he wept. He was a time traveller, and the image has remained with me all my life.
Off to luxuriate in more of Virginia Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness prose whilst eating a spinach and mayo sandwich now. Life is generally kinder at night than it is during the day.
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