Empty

When I settled down to work this morning I looked around for my big A4 exercise book that contains all work in progress; it wasn't there. It must still be in the rucksack from yesterday, I thought. No; completely empty.

Of course - I'd had it open on the wee table at the train seat when I was working on the way back from Newcastle last night, but before the end of the journey I folded the table up with the notebook still in it in order to collect my other chattels. Then there was a bit of a stramash getting out of the train and I must have left it there, to continue the journey to Glasgow by itself and then be binned by the cleaners along with all the discarded papers and magazines they find in the trains. It had no financial value and contained nothing confidential - just a lot of my scribblings, mostly maths but some Latin along with The All Important List (of Things to Do). I spent half the day trying to recreate the latter. I must have a memory that works photographically, if not actually photographic; I could remember where things were on the page and a few places where things had been crossed out, but unfortunately with a few misty patches. I hope that there's nothing important that I've promised to do that is absent from the list. I've now mostly resurrected the maths (had to do this fast or it would have faded entirely) and am now just suffering about half a page deficit on the Latin translation.

It's been an intellectually exhausting day.