St. John Of The Cross Did His Best Stuff Imprisoned In A Box

Because I haven’t done anything relating to “toilet science” for a while. I thought I’d mention this.

I had a moment of inspiration the other day. I have decided to write a book.

But when can I find the time with my busy, modern lifestyle? (Sorry, I’m making myself laugh at that idea)

The idea hit me this morning though, why not write it on the toilet? Most people do things like crosswords and read comics but I’m going to write a book. I have a nice book of graph paper (they didn’t have the narrow rule A4 paper I like in Rymans, dammit!) and I intend to write something in it every time I’m… erm… occupied.

If I knew where to get index cards, I could write the whole book on them. They are the perfect size for keeping in the toilet after all. Plus I could have the satisfaction of ripping off the working methods of Nabokov.

It also has the plus point that if I’m short of blogging material, I can plagiarise it and post it up here, like today.

I can feel a small bead of sweat slowly dribbling down my back. It makes me uncomfortable as I am very aware of it, slowly running between the shoulder blades and down the lower back. I attempt to cool myself down by blowing upwards, sending some of my hair up slightly, but not cooling me down much at all.

There is a bit of grit under my fingernail, resulting, I think, from a crust of bread, or possibly an olive. And I’m late. Again. (I’m not late very often, having as I do a pathological fear of being late)

You get the idea.

Right I’m going to have a bath now, as I do every single Sunday. I am a creature of habit, depressingly so.