Today's words are incipit, mythomane and raptus.
A girl on my train west this morning was wearing a skirt made out of old newspaper print. Sometimes I feel like everything is made out of words. Other times I feel like words inevitably, spectacularly miss the point.
Today's breakfast was quarter of a bag of beansprouts, some spicy crushed chick peas and three hours of argumentation on the topic of commitment, freedom, dignity and expectation. I might take an early lunch.
I really didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe that's obvious? I still feel more alert than I was yesterday, though, when my head was made out of glue.
'Today, I feel older than I've ever felt in my life. That's not surprising really; I am.' Now that's what I call a song.
As I passed back through Glasgow I heard a man singing Wish You Were Here very loudly, in tune. I couldn't see him at first but when I rounded the corner there he was, right in the middle of the street, bathed in blue light. As I passed a middle-aged man joined in on a penny-whistle, and I couldn't decide if he was out of tune or just avant garde.
Today I got a bonus train ticket along with my normal ones. It's blank apart from the word VOID printed across it in large type. It's good to know I've got a ticket for there if I ever need it. I'll make sure to keep it somewhere safe.