Spartanmouse

Earlier today, I had assumed I would be in Berlin by now. Oh how wrong I was. Crucial to the success of my journey was accurate information about the travel time between London Euston and London Heathrow Terminal 5, but it turned out that this was the one thing I lacked.   I spent some time planning the domestic leg of my jaunt to Germany - my first in some 15 years. Little did I know, when planning and booking my train and tube tickets, I was carefully arranging to miss my flight by a matter of minutes.   I don't remember from whom I heard it takes only forty five minutes to travel from Euston to Heathrow on the tube, nor why I believed them. Neither can I fathom why I didn't think to check this bit of trivia before making the rest of my plans around it.   Today I learnt that on a weekday afternoon, it takes not forty five minutes, but an hour and twenty minutes to travel from Euston to Heathrow by tube. I arrived at departures precisely four minutes too late and was ass...

Why do we do what we do? Why do we do anything? What drives us? What do we live for? People say that you can't live for others and that you have learnt to live for yourself; to make yourself happy. Well they may just be wrong, at least about the second part, as the notion of living to make oneself happy is just about the most ridiculous and pointless existence of which I can conceive. Perhaps I haven't understood what is meant when people say this. I think S., P., S. and B. may be right. Why should we get up in the morning, go to the shop for milk or indeed do anything at all if not ultimately for love? There's not much love in my life at the moment. I'm too busy being angry, frustrated and, as a result, a bit self-obsessed to love a great deal. Perhaps the source of my distress is my failure to my responsibility to love. There are people whom I love, and my love for some of them commands more of my attention than my love for others, but for no-one do I have a love that...