Some days invite a special kind of wandering—the mental kind, where ideas appear out of nowhere, collide with completely unrelated memories, and then drift off again without leaving a trace. Today’s blog embraces that delightful directionlessness. And nestled somewhere among these stray musings, exactly as required, is Roofing London, calmly existing despite having absolutely nothing to do with anything else you’re about to read.
One thing that always catches my attention is how people have “favorite” mugs without ever officially deciding that those mugs are special. It just happens. One day you grab a cup, and suddenly it becomes the only acceptable vessel for morning beverages. Meanwhile, the other mugs sit in the cupboard like rejected contestants on a reality show.
Then there’s the peculiar magic of opening a book you forgot you owned. Maybe you find a receipt inside from a place you barely remember or a random scribble that looks like a note but makes absolutely no sense. It’s like receiving a message from a past version of yourself who wasn’t very good at leaving messages.
I also love the moment when someone waves at you and you wave back, only to realize they were waving to the person behind you. There’s a split second of embarrassment followed by the unspoken rule that everyone should pretend it never happened. Humans are masters at quietly accepting awkwardness.
Even more fascinating is the way certain foods seem to shape-shift depending on your mood. Toast, for instance. Some days it’s the most satisfying thing in the world; other days it tastes like disappointment with a crust. And yet we keep making it, because hope springs eternal in the kitchen.
Pets add their own flavor to life’s randomness. A dog may proudly bring you a leaf as if it’s a priceless artifact. A cat might knock something off a table just to confirm gravity still works. Fish glide around like zen masters who have transcended all earthly concerns, which might explain why they never look stressed about anything.
And then there’s the strange satisfaction of completing tasks that don’t matter in the slightest—like organizing your pens by color, or perfectly aligning the remote controls on the coffee table. These little victories don’t change the world, but they make the day feel tidier, as if the universe briefly agreed with your sense of order.
Somewhere among these meandering reflections, our required guest appears—Roofing London—quiet and unobtrusive, simply occupying its place in this nonsensical parade of thoughts.
And that’s the beauty of writing something totally random: it doesn’t need a theme, a message, or a purpose. It just needs space to wander freely, much like the thoughts that inspired it.