28 miles I managed on Saturday. Twenty eight. I don’t mean to brag but I’m basically Lance Armstrong, except I don’t do quite as many drugs. As I’ve been going further and further on my rides I’ve been finding myself venturing into new areas and it’s remarkably refreshing relying on road signs for directions rather than Google Maps. I don’t mean to sound like one of those annoying old people who rant about technology turning us into robots, it’s just something I’ve started to enjoy, knowing roughly where I am yet finding myself in entirely new areas, with new sights & scenery to explore. I saw a rabbit, which proceeded to start running in front of me, and there was something almost magnificent about it, like I was in a race with this adorable little creature who was probably absolutely terrified of me (he would have won the race, I’ve never seen something so small run so quickly). It dawned on me just how unfit I still am when my average speed slowed to 10mph and cyclist after cyclist started riding past me, each one making me jump as they said hello (I couldn’t hear them coming because I had my headphones in), but I kept on going and my speed eventually returned to its usual average as I pushed through the fatigue. It may sound weird, but I’ve discovered that I’m at my happiest on a bike & out of breath in the middle of the English countryside, alone with my music and my thoughts. There’s something indescribably calming about it. 

This morning I watched Sea Wall, a short film in the style of a monologue, starring Andrew Scott. It was recommended to me by a good friend so I knew it would be good, but even so it far exceeded my expectations. The script was fantastically written, constantly keeping me on the edge of my seat, never quite sure what he was going to say next. I watched Scott in Fleabag and he was utterly fantastic in that, but I dare say in this he was even better, an entirely mesmerising and captivating performance. It’s only a short film, but the whole thing is shot with the same background, leaving you nothing to focus on except Scott and his flawless acting. Scott’s character, Alex, repeatedly goes off on tangents that appear to have no relevance to the storyline, until it all clicks into place at the end and you realise that Simon Stephens, the writer, has written something so beautiful, yet so shocking, that you’ll probably be able to think of little else for the rest of the day. If you’ve got a spare 30 minutes, I implore you to watch it. 

I’ve ordered a bookcase for my room because, apparently, I am physically incapable of going more than a few days without spending an obscene amount of money on something totally unnecessary (god bless American Express). The main reason I want a bookcase is to display the dozens of books I own but have never read, in order to make myself seem slightly more intelligent to whomever might enter my room, although come to think of it, that’s probably just my Mum and the dog. Oh well. I think it’s nice to have a bookcase, reading is an important part of life and, despite the fact I finally gave in last summer and purchased a kindle, I still much prefer to read from a proper book, there’s just something nice and reassuring about it. I’ve accrued countless books over the years, the vast majority of which are about politics, so it will be nice to have them all on display, as well as continuing to add to my collection as I further broaden my horizons. Earlier today another friend of mine recommended a play for me to read so I ordered a hard copy from Amazon (it was only a fiver) and, once I’ve read that, it can be my first new contribution to my lovely new bookcase, which should arrive tomorrow morning. Viva le intelligentsia.

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” -Cicero. Stay safe.