Nothing much happened today.
The sky was grey and it rained. Not heavy rain. A friend of mine pointed out that Brighton smelt like a wet dog. It was a day that discouraged further investigation. From my seat at work, from the break room window, by the coffee machine that frequently breaks, I watched the leaden skies, the colour of headaches and wasted Sundays.
I went into Waterstones at lunchtime, and caught the bus home. I cooked some pork chops for dinner and did some drawing, while I watched stuff on TV. I ended up being pretty unsettled by my inability to draw hands in proportion.
I made a cup of tea, came to my room, and wrote this.
Nothing much happened today.
