I want to write again, and not merely as a reaction to the unemployment with which I have started the year.

But it’s also not completely unrelated to that fact: said joblessness has given me the psychic real estate to consider such activity; a trip to a charity book shop reacquainted me with the prose brilliance of the late and much missed Clive James; flights of fancy one engages with when having time on ones hands leads one to think about left turns, or at least doing something enjoyable.

So here we are. Step one is reading good writers (you wouldn’t consider building a house without studying architecture). Time will tell whether I continue to read, let alone attempt writing myself. But that’s the current state, and I thought it worth documenting, either as the potential genesis of something, or at least a retrospective “lol, what was I thinking?”