I have no excuse tonight. I am in a thinking space between assignments (for my screenwriting program), and I also seem to be at the weak end of my flu bug and gathering my wits after jet lag. I should be able to write a blog, overdue for a few days now. I couldn’t get started today, that is, after my swim which is a given. I was in such a lethargic state and though I did not lie down nevertheless I dozed off far too often.

I have more reviews to write of the plays I saw in London and one in Toronto since I came home. My mind is marshmallow, so I will not force it too hard. I’ll content myself with a random thought about scarves, young men and scarves.

I noticed young men on the streets of London and in the airport how casually they cast a scarf with such a chic effect. Who taught them to drape a short length of cloth like that? Each one has a different style: a loop, an easy knot, a double wrap around the throat, or both ends trailing, but somehow controlled. Perhaps it’s the milder winters that enable these fashionable gestures. When I was as young as these young men in Winnipeg, scarves were tied and knotted firmly close around the neck for warmth not for appearance. To tell the truth, I don’t tie a scarf too well myself. I have two infinity scarves and a cowl, crocheted by my daughter Kate, and one long loose one knitted by my neighbour Marlene, and they look nice, no thanks to any expertise on my part. I had to ask someone how to thread a scarf through its own loop and I still don’t do it well.

That’ll do. That’s the kind of useless rumination I indulge in when I’m not thinking creatively.

Anon, anon.