I have never been a journal writer, but something just felt right about pushing myself to do it this time.
Set the scene, France July 2021, summer climbing trip in Ceuse. I was picking up some food for the week when I passed the stationary aisle. For no particular reason I looked at the notebooks and journals on the bottom right shelf. Without giving it a second thought I picked up the ugliest little purple notebook, nestled amongst a sea of pretty pictured ones.
Growing up my mum would always buy me fancy looking journals to write in, but I never used them because I always thought writing your feelings down was silly and for the mentally weak. So to my surprise, here I was standing in the supermarket with an ugly journal in my right hand and the shopping basket in the left.
Reflecting on the season I just had in Margalef, Spain, I’d come painfully close to sending my big project ‘Victimas Del Futur’ grade 35 or at least that’s what I thought had happened. In actual fact, I was missing the biggest piece
