I don’t know what to do with myself

There are times when I don’t feel right. It’s often after a big event or a major distraction. I want to write but somehow I know I’m not in the right place and tinkering now would be, at best, a waste of time, at worst, a destructive exercise.

Quiet coach

I always head for the quiet coach on trains. I need the peace to read, write and think. A phone going off is a nuisance but I don’t make a fuss. Constant ringing drives me nuts. Thanks to the ‘Basingstoke’ guy who stepped up and told the black youth off. I was on the verge of doing my school ma’am impression, but for once didn’t need to.

Above is one I snapped (and defaced) earlier!

Inky fingers

There is something immensely satisfying about finding ink on my fingers. It's a badge of office. It says I write, in ink - the stuff you pump from a bottle into your pen. So some hasn't made it to the page, but that's OK. The ink on my fingers are words on their own.

Ink Cap Ink

I wanted to know if the shaggy ink cap mushroom was as good at its word. Yes it is! You can ‘make’ your own ink buy placing a ‘past it’s best’ mushroom in a small bowl and waiting for it to decompose into a black/brown liquid. Dip a nib or paintbrush in it and off you go. You can eat the shaggy ink cap when it’s fresh. I had mine in a quiche!

Edit!

Stayed up to finish the latest edit. You have no idea how much I love those two words -THE END!