Wednesday, 10 August 2011


I make notes for myself all over the place. Usually I can remember why. But...

On old South African notebook, mostly filled with (surprisingly neat) notes from the week after I found the document that my PhD would be founded on and was working through how to organise the things I needed to say, in Tipp-Ex or similar: Q WHY DID HE COMMIT SUICIDE AFTER ONE BIT OF THE PIE? SPECIFY, SPECIFY, SPECIFY.

On venerable crappy phone, as supplied by Orange's villainous insurance department, which is a story for another day, in draft text message section, alongside some very sensible ideas: No miracle chance your free to slaughter Roea

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