Read. Squeezed on train. Chuckled out aloud at book, got weird looks.
Wrote. Hit a wall. Tried again. Hit another wall. Used the loo. Danced by self in cubicle to music only I could hear. It worked, and I wrote.
Work. Read on journey, ate nuts while tempted to ask man beside me, if he wanted to swop my dry unappealing, sorry, hmm, yum yum nuts, for his disgusting yuck yuck chocolate bar.
Home. Tv. ‘Can I have a vowel please Rachel…’
Read. Back to work. Hate tourists so slow, do they have to look at everything? No I don’t want another free paper, thank you very much.
Home. No food in house, don’t want to go out in rain. An egg for dinner it is then.
Just finished ‘Us’ by David Nicholls, love the way this man writes…Hooked. Phillip Pullmans book is waiting patiently to be read on my bedside table ‘Northern lights’ can’t wait…