This blog

I've been writing it since 2009 - a lot of posts, a lot of life passed by.
Most of my current writing (novel) is set in post-apocalyptic 2073, and one of the reasons for the world's - or rather its human societies'- imaginary cataclysm is the internet's demise.
In my tale, this particular event occurs in 2038, mainly due to someone attempting to upload a half-hour film of their cat trying to open the fridge - the final straw, in effect.
I suspect that the denouement will be somewhat closer in time - not that I'm a pessimist, I think that nearly everyone must secretly harbour this thought . . .
Anyway, as an old git, and real paper/card/ink/leather, book enthusiast, I'd like to preserve my body of  blog-work into a graspable thing with pages. Not particularly to sell - from my tentative peeks so far, nine years worth of blog to paper is yeekly expensive - more as just a record of our lives in this place called the Hot-house; all the small, mostly unremarkable happenings - dogs and other pets homed, musical/art/writing triumphs and failures/ boy's progression through the various stages of school/art college; jam made, celebrations held/ sadnesses acknowledged and got over, love and laughter treasured, plants planted and passing seasons enjoyed.
So, big correction progress underway - I think my grammar has certainly improved over time . . . should have done! Photos re-jigged, a few posts discarded and forward to the grand loading-up onto Blog-U-Like or whatever site looks easy to use - before the cat and fridge episode is upon us.

                                 

Possibly my favourite photo of this year so far - direct line to God in a Toulouse church.

Dreams and acting on them

I dream a lot and usually remember them, well probably not all of them as there possibly are tens or hundreds per night?
Anyway, I woke this morning with one still present in my head which for a time (as I 'came round' - err, what day is it, etc,) that seemed so real I started to plan the day around it.
As in the dream, I would go to the dump, line up all the disposed-of fridges and spray-can paint 'Stop Le Pen' across them. It seemed like such a perfectly sensible and straight forward idea, something that could be achieved while doing the other jobs in that direction - buy dog crunch, go to the post office and so on.
Then as my brain caught up with the rest of me - already on auto-pilot, tea-making mission, I realised this would be more difficult than the dream suggested.
Our local dump doesn't keep white goods on the premises, (even though I think the guys there would most certainly be into the idea of the graffiti); most fridges are taken away when you buy a new one and end up . . . where? and Mark had the car for the day, meaning I would have to take the train to Carcassonne and walk about looking for a bigger 'decheterie' in which to carry out my political statement, also we had friends staying, food to prepare and all the usual jobs to carry out, SO, I opened for a ink and paper version.



Interesting that I imagined fridges in the dream and not wardrobes, old kitchen units or cookers - something glacial in the offing if, God forbid, she were to get in.