Oh, all right then.

I don't like being told what to do much, especially by an illuminated sign in Bournmouth airport. It rather reminds me of that bit in Hitch hikers guide to the Galaxy when our heroes discover a plane full of people in suspended animation who are woken every 40 million years or so . . .'return to you seats, coffee and biscuits will be served, return to your seats . . .aaaahhhhhh!!!!!
RELAX, EAT and SHOP.
Suppose I'd rather get very tense, abstain from food and save money? Its my choice.
Perhaps if you are seen not to be doing at least one of these things they will call security, and make you wait outside in the rain. I did drink a paper cup of hot chocolate - which incidentally was made by Eddy Grant - didn't know he lived in Bournemouth. Then I looked at sunglasses until a shop assistant came and told me I looked nice in a pair which made me look like a deranged fly. I didn't relax as I had to keep looking at the board in case it said, 'put that f-ing sandwich down, and run very fast to gate seven.'

Schools out.

More like crushed and removed.
On my trip back to the mother rock I went up to my old school to swim in the gym's pool. I was grieved indeed to see my beloved lieu of learning as various, size-assorted piles of rubble.
Actually, I wasn't. The clutch of buildings had represented a fairly desperate example of early 1970's architecture.  I do have a few fond memories of my time there, such as gazing at Mr Bewley's handsome features in A level geography, hence my grade F.
It was also quite good fun roaring across the playground on my Puch grand prix moped - when it would start. And, Mr Hough, the art teacher was an inspiration, 'Crud' the headmaster - not.
I'd been glad when it was time to move on.
On the way back from the pool, (still operational) I took this small chunk of concrete from the site as a memento of those long-gone days.
A man wearing a plastic yellow hat came over and asked me what I was doing. I, in return asked him what he was doing and was going to happen to all the rubble that was passing through a most impressive crushing machine. He said it was going to be the base of the car park for the super new building. We stared at the craggy lump in my hand for a bit.
"I bet you can't identify which classroom it came from,"he said.
"Geography" I replied, and headed back to the car in the pissing rain.

Bistro hothouse

Ezra took over the kitchen the other day to make Mark a 'thank you meal'. I was allowed to join in too.
Above, an elegant roast and fresh tomato salad with a sauce of molasses and balsamic. Followed by salmon cooked in some hper-complicated way—and was worth it. Desert of raspberry and orange jelly. All fantastic.
As we couldn't afford the massive bill. we, in the time honoured fashion . . . did the washing up, which was copious. Fascinating watching your child growing and passing through the different ideas of what they might do . . . the food thing has been off and on and around for a very long time, helped by watching endless episodes of Gorden **** Ramsey shouting at people, and master chef. Well if we get nice dinners, I'm not complaining.

Praise the base.

Post for no great reason

Yesterday I met a philosophising tyre-sales man.
I showed him the balding front tyres of our filth-mobile, and said 'are these dead or nearly dead'. He said, 'we are all but close to death' and smiled serenely. He also didn't try and sell me any new ones on the spot, but said they would be all right for another month or so . . . this is unusual surely. I put it down to the end of the world myself.
I feel odd today: just had a haircut, I think she cut off some optimism strands with the hair. Good cut though.
I know I have blogged this before, but . .  . the words come back sometimes—on days like this.
My dear friend and partner on advertising nightmare photo shoots once mentioned how strange it is that one can experience so many moods in one day.
I slept badly, leaning heavily to the left imagining clinging to a scratchy hillside in the wind. Woke at 6.30 as the train passed, drank tea, wrote in bed with hot water bottle, did exercises—all good. Ate toast - good, cleared up, boring but life-affirming; hoed weeds, excellent.
Depressing but useful email arrived with regard to my current artistic endeavors. Day suddenly full of what is it all about questions leaping up and down like dog fleas. Sat in bed again as the wind was too cold to do things I had promised myself I would do. Started a difficult letter, then it was time to go to the hairdressers and confess the reason I have a chunk of hair missing above one ear was to do with saving money.
Now at home after dog walk and cake - a little better, but a certain hysteria seems to be hiding in the corners of the house. Yes, it's got me. Will have to post a very silly thing that makes me and Ezra laugh—thank you Nick!

Postcard shot

Mark took this in Paris. No words required really, perhaps, aaahh . . .

Halfway house

Missed the first onslaught this morning, but it's all very exciting with the road closed and drivers ranting.
One old man standing next to me told me he lived in a house a couple of rows back; he looked rather tearful, or could have been the dust. Got told to sod off (In French) for walking around within the fenced off area. Fair enough but there's lots of free firewood I can't get at!