Tuesday, 29 November 2011
I hate this time of year. After a while my body accepts that if I sit down longer than about five minutes it starts to freeze over. The urge to get back into bed with hot water bottles and two duvets is ever present.
After a few weeks it becomes easier-ish, but the memories of being permanently warm and even very hot, die hard. One method I have found over the years is to dance around like a total pillock. Various songs do it, 'Blackbox, ride on time', yes, I don't know why either, but I think Suzie mentioned it once too. Bob Marley+ Funkstars remix of 'Sun is shining', 'Sex bomb' by Tom Jones and ? 'Badder Badder Schwing' by Freddy Fresh, and anything 'Latiny' hence this wonderful track above.
Think the link has gone so here's a pic of Lalo Guerrero instead.
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Or is it May?
Weird, and wonderful. The plants are full of spring colour, boosted by the rain and warmed by the gentle sun . . . aaaahh. Hope we don't all suddenly get a very abrupt shock.
This purple thingy is a wonderful specimen which only flowers very late on in the season. Therefore it sometimes it only gets a couple of weeks before frost zaps it. This year it has been nodding its multiple violet heads happily for about six weeks.
None of our elderly voisins are saying anything like; "ooo, it's going to be really cold this winter, the chickens have been roosting with their feet facing the South", or "rats have been seen making duvets." I spoke to someone just down the road yesterday. He can't remember a mild November like this in his last eighty odd years . . .
Saturday, 12 November 2011
This is a photo of the vile mess of wires next to the computer desk.
Also a portrait of the inside of my brain when I try to use internet banking. This morning, being rather tired, and attempting to log on while playing air guitar to Radiohead . . . I locked myself out AGAIN.
There must be a whole department devoted to idiotic folk like me, in each internet bank.
'O God, it's her again.'
I must have wasted a large tree's worth of paper by now in the endless letters which arrive with the new secret code. I faithfully mark the important data down in it's super crack-proof code: the name of a fish we had when I was five; the date my friend sprained her foot in 1982, etc, etc. And then . . . promptly forget it. Which pretend name in the address book? which address book? Maybe I marked it down in that tiny handmade paper book from Paperchase. Or did I try to memorise it all? Try meditation, perhaps that will draw it out.
Ommm . . . Arnold the rabbit, 1433, Mr Ayton the pervert janitor from junior school. Crap, all wrong. Hit the button 're-register' and do the whole thing. Again.
I remember whan the bank only used to open from 3.00p.m until 5p.m.
Ooh, those were the days. Well probably not. Must try harder.