I am a big daydreamer. When I am sitting on the tube or on the bus and look round at my co-travellers they are not daydreaming; they are on candycrush moving little icons around a grid or they are looking at facebook, seeing what preoccupations are reigning this day; some are reading, on kindle, a newspaper, on their mobiles more and more (what good eyes they must have), even old-fashioned books. I seem to be the only one looking round, scanning faces (is this allowed these days? you tell me), looking out of the bus window at the world going by, lost in my thoughts. Yes, I’m a daydreamer and I need it. I think I need a minimum number of empty hours every day to function well in my channelled hours. Even in the gym I am practucally the only one who does not take the mobile in but leaves it in the locker. As well as being the only one who is not listening to music through headphones. Again, I am searching out nooks and crannies, those places in the gym where nothing is happening. I want to be alone with my daydreams. And I am not necessarily thinking of anything in particular. The thoughts are just pinging around, colliding with each other, transforming into weird things, bending. Without these transformations I don’t think I could relax and I don’t think I could understand the admittedly limited experiences I am subjected to. Maybe people need more daydreaming. Most people have more complicated lives than I do. That would mean more daydreaming.