Writing in my journal this morning, I realised that I’ve been shutting myself away from my fellow man for a while now. The fact is, I hadn’t noticed until a day or two back.
I’m not noticing a lot of feelings of boredom – or isolation – I’m working (back in the people business), I now have number two son (the one covered from head to toe in shit) living with me and, for those stray fragments of loneliness on public transport, there’s always twitter.
So, it’s taken a wee while for me to spot that I’m actually spending every second I can, alone.
In the last month, I wrote what I think is a pretty good first draft. Even now, I’m collecting together the first grains of whatever I put together next. So far, it’s disparate, disconnected images; things that make me scratch my head and wonder…
But that’s a framework of sorts. The next idea I have will slot into what’s there already and from these tiny beginnings, great prurient and childish novels are born!

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