How do you start a Diary?

Of course I’d like to start it with a whiff of glamour, something like ‘As I begin our diary, I find myself looking out across the Indian Ocean’….or ‘It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and twenty two,  rum rations are low and there are mutinous stirrings among the scurvy crew’…but of course the reality is I’ve just driven to work. Across Trent Bridge though on a sunny day, past the City Ground, where if the light from the water is in your eyes you might still imagine, that you’ve  seen the green sweatshirt of Brian Clough through that little gap between the stands, where you can just about see the pitch…and on down London Road beside the canal, to the the October Textiles Factory, at the foot of Malin Hill, where a cobbled street will still help you climb into the heart of a now quieter Lace Market….bloody hell…the phone’s ringing, and this diary will be a bit like that, we’ve got to keep the last vestiges of UK manufacturing alive, but I am decided at least where this diary will begin…with a story of how it began…

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