If I wanted a Tube map, I'd live in London

I've just sat here for fifteen minutes trying to remember what I've done today; which at least accounts for fifteen minutes of it, I suppose. As for the many other minutes between 9:30am and now... Erm, pass. I suppose this must be why people write diaries. What did I do today, they must ask themselves, and there it is, helpfully transcribed. That must be nice. Ah, yes, they must exclaim, that's what I did! Of course. How could I have forgotten? Wrote in my diary. Brilliant, I can get on with the rest of my day now.

At least, not having one myself, that's what I imagine people with diaries must do in such circumstances... (my failure to keep one is longstanding, and often quite literal - I gave away the one I got this Christmas). And if I did have one, I'd only open it to the relevant page and find the words Forgot to write in diary, or something. That sounds like the kind of stupid thing I'd write. And then instantly forget about. Oh, look what that says, I might think, that can't be right. And then lose whole days to pondering the inherent paradox.

Which reminds me: intentionally blank pages in exam papers! That's a bloody cruel trick to play on a philosophy student. I once spent half an exam thinking it was just a particularly obtuse question.

What?

The exam was on intentionality.

Anyway, diaries. That's exactly what would happen if I had one, I'd innocently wonder what I'd done all day and the next thing: paradox. I can't remember half of what I do with my life anyway, without some diary making things worse! And come to think of it, who do they think they are? Calendars, without the pretty pictures! Anally retentive notebooks!



Tsk! Stupid, stupid inventions.




[Woo! It's fun being grumpy :) ]