With the routine kicking in and the need for exploration of Oxford cafe's decreasing, I reckon this week might see me spending more time at the coal-face that is the desk in my room.
Yesterday I mentioned 'Lexington Crump'. I found the name 'Crump' while bent over a display case at the cathedral in Winchester. It was a register of men killed in World War II. Each page listed the rank, serial number, name, rank, regiment and manner of death (in a single word).
'Crump' stood out for all the right reasons so I appropriated it in the manner much like John Brumby takes houses off people in the Western Suburbs. It's for a higher purpose that will benefit the community. In this case that community is me.
There's a great story in that name, but this morning I couldn't figure it out. Not yet anyway.
The main reason being is that I haven't imagined something that resonates within me yet. There needs to be something about this idea that I can latch onto and empathise with that rings true to something that ends up being something I want to say.
I can see this guy. I actually sat opposite someone very like him later that day in the dodgy Irish pub at Winchester. So he's kind of in my head already. Once we have a place and an experience to attribute to him, maybe then a story will come out.
Or maybe not....
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Alas, but Crump was no grump....
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