I miss last summer, and stealing baths from roadside skips and dragging them all the way to my garage. Lighting candles and bringing in pillows and blankets. So many nights talked through, so many mornings greeted blearily when we opened the garage door and saw a dawn-light - blew out the candles but carried on talking. Still drinking wine. Drinking wine at eight o'clock in the morning on the swings in the local park. Having talked all night, wearing layers and layers and not drunk, any more, just happy. And still so much to talk about!
I need to do something with my life that I'll remember. I need to get out of this damn country or meet some new people or move to London or do something different, for Christ's sake.
André Breton's atelier.