Tidying up on my phone I realised I haven’t used the Note function for about 16 months. I have phone numbers for a Lorraine, a Jason and a Norman. Who the hell is Norman? There are the vital statistics of my godson, including his full name, date of birth and a reading list. 16 months ago he was reading HP and the Chamber of Secrets, and his brother was into the Radio 4 quiz show Just a Minute.

There are numerous licence plate numbers of vehicles who have done me wrong; shopping lists, and a 10 year plan which simply states: Money. Writing.

There are cryptic notes clearly intended to provide the inspiration for a novel and a note made during the launch for James Robertson‘s latest book The Professor of Truth in which, after listening to a stupid man ask a stupid question, I decide that readers should be imagined and never allowed to speak to an author. There is a poetic lament that James Robertson always makes me feel like a shit Scot, and half a recipe for courgette soup.

note to self

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