Assiduous readers of this blog will know that I lost my personal journal the other month by leaving it on a BA plane. (They will also know that BA's way with lost property is up there with its abilities with new terminals and baggage handling). So distraught was I at this loss that I vowed never to keep a journal again. After 50 years of diary-writing, I would cease. Blogging would do, I thought.
Well, it didn't. Do, I mean. Suddenly I realised that life without a journal felt too transient - that days merely passed, unrecorded, and were lost for ever. So a few days ago I began another kind of journal, this time in a beautiful hardbacked book given by a friend and still waiting for some suitable use. I shall not be hidebound by ruled spaces and the tyranny of the calendar, but I shall record the passing of time nonetheless as the whim takes me.
And suddenly life seems real again. Sad, eh?