It’s dark. The rain is incessant as the wind throws it against the window with unlimited zeal.
I’ve been inside all day and the clock has ticked slowly. Nature has a way of making you endure the bad times by dragging them out and then making the good times flash by in a memory stretching blur.
It’s just no’ right that.
Cough Cough Cough. Although if this was an episode of Judge Dredd we’d have Koff! Koff! Koff! as the future is phonetic or Amerkin or something.
The film was such a missed opportunity. They screwed up so much, but the visuals were in the right area and Stallone had the right chin. Max Von Sydow is always good. He’s an odd one though, like Alec Guiness he never really looked young.
I haven’t been out for ages now, there’s test kit sitting unopened, I’ve failed to destroy that Parámo smock, the hills look beautiful, the weather is all changeable and photogenic, Holly wants to play and I’ve got customers looking for pipes and shit to get repaired. Koff!
It’s been a year since PTC*World went up. Happy Bastard Birthday.
Enforced time indoors gives one time to reflect. On life, left turns where there should have been a right, words spoken in haste, dear friends who have slipped away and are beyond reach, the passage of time and the inability to stop it or even slow it down a little.
Having dealt with stuff many years go, now I mostly pace around, hunched and blowing my nose (I’ll have a head to head test coming up soon; Kleenex V OwnBrand tissue, both are lightweight…).
I also start dismantling things that work perfectly well in an attempt to improve them. I took all the cordlocks off of a waterproof jacket and put fatter ones on to make it easier to work with gloves, but the bigger bodies just jammed the cords in all the entry points and I had to change them back.
I now have a rolltop rucksack when yesterday it had a very useful lid attached.
There’s a very good chance I’m going to dismantle another guitar.
It could be this cold, the consequently elevated chocolate intake and temperature, the sneezing and coughing that derails each rational thought just as it’s pulling into the station. I don’t know.
It’s bursting my head whatever. I’ve got things to do and sitting in the bastard house isn’t high on the list.
Yes taxi driver, sit there and press your horn. I’m sure the sound will pass right though all the surrounding buildings, missing out everyone but the intended target whom it will pick out with the accuracy a snipers bullet.
Oh wait, actually it’s everybody who can hear it. Apparently except for whoever it was that phoned for a taxi. And still you press the horn.
Heaven forbid that you should exercise your legs or brain rather than just honing that one mighty button pressing finger and take some other action to resolve this obviously bemusing situation.