A beginning of sorts…

An accretion of personal miscellanies.

What will I write here? Snippets, shavings, offcuts; no time for full carpentry – save that perhaps for paid works. This will be a place for the untidy, the disordered: nicknacks and ticket stubs, scribbles and nail clippings, long pauses and short bursts. A little place of no ambition exception the slow aggregation of details. If you are not I, then I make no apology to you, dear reader, for this is an entirely personal affair.

Seems to be first day of autumn, a chill in the air and that grey dampness all too familiar to English autumns. A month to go until I move from Trent Park and the room where Edward and Mrs Simpson had their trysts (no signs of such ghosts though) before their affair became public knowledge.