Whooshing.

When I got up this morning the keyboard on the laptop decided to be unresponsive. I looked at other peoples blips and was able to sprinkle stars and hearts but not to comment. I had tried restarting to no avail, and I had tried writing my own text using copy/paste, but of course I use keyboard commands for that too. Restarting is not the same as Switching-It-Off-And-Switching-It-Back-On-Again, and that did work, which is how I managed to type my script in the final seconds before running out of the door. Afterwards I realised that I could have used copy/paste by right clicking the mouse, but that does not come automatically to me and we are talking 05:30am.

Of course I should have put my blip up the night before, but I was far too busy jumping through all the necessary hoops required to secure my tenancy on the little flat. I rather feel as though I am being made to run before I have fully pulled my trousers up. It's that kind of rushing / stumbling / tripping over yourself gait. It's not because I am not ready, it's simply that we do not conduct personal business at work, and there are no business hours remaining when I am home. After I get home there is a window of about an hour during which I can function in a manner resembling professional, after that I become blancmange. I have never been able to work after 7pm.

So, trying to catch up with myself this morning I almost completely missed my favourite stretch of the track – between Gravesend and Higham, which today was blanketed in a low white mist. I just managed to grab this before trackside hedges came between us.

The flat is getting closer.