But I don't remember any great thoughts; I don't remember any great dreams.
I was going to post something about how Bath- a city I've always thought soulless- was laid out according to principles of sacred geometry in the mid 18th century. The architect- a guy called John Wood- was a freemason and druid. This was something I saw on TV last night. But I can't get my enthusiasm up. You know how it is when the words don't come. It's perplexing, frustrating. Sometimes they fall like rain and other times you have to haul them up out of a deep well.
So I'm going to do what Kipling said you should do when you feel grim- I'm going to do some gardening. More specifically I'm going to go play with my Black and Decker hedgetrimmer, which handles and sounds like one of those great old 1930s machine guns.