In need of a notebook

I had an idea for a short story yesterday. A good one. It happened on the tube, either the District or the Victoria Line. Can't remember which. But that makes sense as I can't remember the bloody idea either. Senility at 29? Brilliant. Will buy a nice pocket notebook today. And carry pens. And write down ideas when they come. Because that's what writers do. If they didn't, they'd just be "rs". And nobody would know what the fuck that is.

And my nose twitches on.