Sunday, 29 March 2009


Trying to find something to puncture up through this plateau, add a little colour to the place. Imagine a moor -- are you thinking of it? -- heather twined together, looking purple on top but tangled and impenetrable down to their roots; add a slight breeze, and clouds overhead. Imagine a bird, just one, bellowing as it disappears. Hold that thought in your mind. Now just wait and imagine the person that will come up -- wait for them, the inevitable -- and they will say something like, "It's so quiet here it's noisy." Then, as you are only imagining, you won't feel any guilt about kicking them in the teeth for being so downsighted and glib.

Unfortunately both you and the imaginary person are correct, and this is the peril of a Sunday afternoon. Kick. Teeth. Won't happen again.

Observations for the day:
- Typing, however ferocious, is not real exercise.
- No one person has enough to fill up a blog, unless they dig up all their shameless thoughts or effect a mode of hyperactivity: "Man I did three skydives today and it was like... woosh!... the first time, wind parting my hair into some wholly new style that could definitely become all the rage. And, and, dude, can you think how liberating it is, just to be falling, not held up by anything, man but still totally fixed for a few minutes. I don't believe in God but that was a gift from gravity! ... ... ... The next two jumps were, like, quite ace too. We, like, shouted something different when we jumped out. Honestly how clich├ęd is Geronimo!?"
- Missing the working week when it is only hours away proves I have a sad existence, but at least I'm not living for the weekend (otherwise I'd have to kick myself in the teeth).

If I go to watch an Italian film on my own that will be fine. That will take up time unspendable, until I can use up the whole week and then go to London.

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