3 rd.June

3 rd June.

Woke up at 8 dropped off again till 8.45.
Rocks debris easily extracted along with protein.
Down the stairs for a hearty breakfast.

“What plans for today?” my father asks.
“Going to do some writing”, I replied.

Finding a reporter’s book was a bit of a hassle but here I am 2 p.m. sat writing in the club accompanied by a pint and a Jack D.

To return briefly to the events of last night, laid seeing the ideas for copy flitting past, I remembered I need another dictation machine.
My style of writing is to write as I think, also as I would speak.
If I could find the time to transfer my written word into audio format, I think a useful dimension would be added.
More emotion can be weaved into the spoken word and emphasis is more easily relayed to a listener than to a reader.

I wonder why I’m sat in the club writing instead of being out fishing, suppose it shows the level of enjoyment I sometimes feel putting pen to paper.

The sun has finally found its way through the coastal mist and I’m sure the hordes of walkers I’m watching through the window will appreciate it.
I take a quick break and allow snippets of nearby conversations to wash over me.
Dialect can add so many colours to speech; I’m enjoying the mix surrounding me.

Nearly everyone with an infirmity or disability can see someone worse off than himself or herself, and take comfort from seeing them coping with whatever circumstances their personal lot throws up.