I feel very strongly about a lot of things: it often makes me think I hate people and things I actually know very little about.
Nothing can prepare you for a beauty you have always felt. A field as flat as a wicket; an enclosure of monastic solitude; a building burned in to cultural memory.
We have plenty of people who need homes, but cannot afford them: Rents are expensive; mortgage deposits are extortionate; the bank of mum and dad has been squeezed dry. Hard working people desperately need homes.
To my mind, the idea of generating ideas for a business, for finding a gap in the market and then demonstrating that it is possible to exploit that gap for financial gain, is akin to magic.
Yesterday morning, for my breakfast, I had a Pot Noodle. I do so once a year or so, but suspect I may have another one next week.
I trawl through TV channels; my hopes of something good; poised and ready. I have found treasures here before: I want to find more.
I find it odd that the precise moment I am in most need of my full faculties for self-promotion and pushing myself forward, I am at the lowest ebb of confidence in my own abilities.