I’ve booked travel.  I’m piecing together my travel kit and finding road clothes and generally getting my shit together. I’ve even bought socks. Because the curse of a travel set-up is that it never repacks exactly the same way, and so the trick is to travel with cheap socks that you can throw away every day, thereby creating just enough new space in your bag every day to defeat the Curse Of Packing.  None of those Jason Bourne hot takes taught you that one, did they?

I eventually got called on my shit by a loved one, who pointed out that I haven’t had any serious repeats of The Medical Event and maybe I can stray more than a couple of hours from home now.

So I’m down to Brighton for a thing, and then maybe Germany for a few days, then France, then Russia, with a possible jump to LA in the near future. Time to remember how to work on the road, and how to be on the road, unlocated and living in spaces not designed to be lived in.

Maybe rattling past your window soon, on to the next thing.  Know me by my velocity and angry demands for espresso  and the trail of littered statin packets.

 

Reading: THE NIGHTMARE STACKS, Charles Stross  (UK) (US)