Something about Barcelona,

This mystery, small as it is, could almost become a story in itself. The other morning, I was sitting in my favourite place, on the settee by the front window which looks down the road on which we live. It is a cul-de-sac and we are the house right at the end so we have a perfect view almost directly due west, down to where our road jinks to the right.

I was reading the paper, when suddenly, unbidden, a sentence came into my head which would either be a great first line in a story, or which would be an inspiration for said story. I try to jot down such thoughts, either on my phone or anywhere else. Phone was not handy but a pen was, so I grabbed it and wrote the sentence along the bottom margin, the footer,  of the newspaper page. I can’t now remember exactly what it was, something about Barcelona, and it may have mentioned a train. I tore off the strip and kept it in my line of vision so I wouldn’t forget it. Paper read, I went upstairs to do some writing, taking my note on the long, thin strip of torn-off newspaper. I put it on my desk, and began some work.

A couple of days later, I suddenly remembered it and had a panic about where it might be, checking the settee by the window, and then remembering it was on my desk – and yes, it was. This time I put it on this laptop, above the keyboard, below the screen, safe and sound. Except it isn’t, it’s disappeared again! I had to move my laptop for a zoom call and the sun was shining on the screen. I thought I’d put the Barcelona paper nearby… but obviously not.

Where is it? What did it say? It was in the first person… Barcelona… catching a train – or maybe at a station… a station in Barcelona? Or a train to Barcelona? The person speaking/writing was in a rush, but was happy and excited and had maybe seen someone they hoped to meet up with again when they returned.  A long-lost friend/cousin/relative? A school chum? A college pal? An old flame? I have a clear image of the scene, as if it was something I’d seen in real life or in a film. It was either very sunny or the lights illuminating the scene were very yellow. It was warm, people were happy as they rushed… Maybe the character, who had dark hair and was wearing a cream jacket and white open-necked shirt, was rushing towards a down escalator and glanced back smiling. It was just a snapshot, just a tiny germ of an idea, and now it’s lost.

At least I have remembered this little flash of inspiration, at least I will be able to write something after those first dozen or so words. The boggart obviously has my note, and may even now be writing something of his own in his crabbed handwriting, ink-splots and splotches dotting the page and his clothes. I don’t suppose I will ever read boggart-blog, but it would be interesting to compare it to mine!