No.204 - by Ella Frances Sanders - The Sometimes Newsletter
This weekend I was in London: three nights, three exceedingly dry, hot days, twelve and a half hours sitting down across four different trains. While there I scribbled furiously, furious thoughts in a small lime-yellow notebook, namely trying to analyse what it meant to temporarily move my body from a quiet Scottish river valley to a capital city during the middle of the month of June.
This weekend I was in London: three nights, three exceedingly dry, hot days, twelve and a half hours sitting down across four different trains. While there I scribbled furiously, furious thoughts in a small lime-yellow notebook, namely trying to analyse what it meant to temporarily move my body from a quiet Scottish river valley to a capital city during the middle of the month of June. Until quite recently I would not have been able to take this trip, not for complex reasons but just because anxiety was in place as a kind of be all and end all. So it was pleasant to discover that I did not…
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