I sat down this morning to write something meaningful for this post and guess what – nothing came.

I went back to the kitchen, took a bunch of Muscat grapes and a bottle of mineral water – I drank far too much wine last night and I need rehydrating and re – whatever black/red grapes do to you.

Oxidisation?

Anyway, I came back out, sat in the autumn sun, warm and comforting with a crisp edge a cat sat on the bench alongside.

Suddenly a thought popped into my head – a question – reminded by something I wrote back in September.
Not so much an idea but a technique that someone had suggested and I wondered what would happen if I did it again in a mood when I didn’t feel like it.

This is what came out.

Alone.
Then two.
They met somewhere.
She said hello first.
He couldn’t believe his luck.
They went to the cinema together.
After they ate in a fantastic restaurant.
She had wild salmon, he watched her eat.
The waiter that served them was her old boyfriend.
Coincidence can be a killer, even in a small restaurant.
Coincidence – I have been thinking about it all week.
Coincidence – a nice way to start a sentence.
Can I do that every line now?
That would be a real coincidence.
Now it’s at the end!
Coincidence can trick you.
Coincidence can surprise.
Coincidence sucks.
Coincidence.

Then the interior psychoanalyst stepped in and looked at it.

Two themes - her and coincidence - two halves, two separate thoughts.

Coincidence; because I am still thinking about the bristling and indignant activity in the email inbox at the start of the week.

Still thinking about the thin line that divides knowledge shared and the public domain.

Her; because she’s always with me even when she’s on her way back from Ulm.

I must clean the fridge.