..of one's train of thought, I mean. Cycling by the river bank on the way home, I had a fantastic idea of something to write down here. You know how it is: You get into a rhythm on the bike, or into an activity that doesn't quite take over all your concentration, and your brain begins to foment ideas, almost unbidden. Anyway, there I was, thinking this wonderful idea, and the sentences I was to write appeared almost before my eyes, when suddenly some little cockhead - one of the breed of cycle fascists, all lycra and expensive lightweight bike, and about whom I shall write in detail later - nearly forced me into the bloody river. Bastard.
Worse than that though was that my idea had completely disappeared. I mean, totally. To say I was infuriated by this is an understatement. Cycling back home, I tried to scrabble for the memory of it, its shadow fleeting away from me, and I couldn't grasp it at all. A shame, as it seemed to be a damn fine one at the time. This got me thinking about the numerous times I have had good ideas, yet have omitted to writing them down and they have disappeared like clouds over a desert.