![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Bugger, damn and drat.
I am in one of those moods where I should dearly like to argue the toss over something really pointless with someone over a bottle of really good red wine. Preferably a Merlot, I think.
Unfortunately, I am all alone in my garret is Sarf London. So that is not an option. The wine is, but it's a South African Cabernet and I feel that may be a bit too spiky for my mood. Apart from which it needs to be drunk in company (as do I) with a good deal of pointless and tawdry contention on some suitable subject interspersing the mouths full.
And My God, I'm not that pretentious. Well, not without an audience, at least.
I currently have a little writer's block both NWO and Dimpler Towers wise and have written and deleted enough paragraphs on both to fill a paragraph.
I feel vaguely guilty that I have neither painted nor drawn for ages, either. It is many, many moons since I picked up a pencil in anger and longer still since I wasted paint. I have a feeling of penned in creativity in the back of my head and I am restless from it. I can neither define nor express what I mean; I want to do something, make a splash - written, drawn, painted or spoken. But what, I do not know. I am hoping my little trip to Shropshire this weekend to see the folks and get out of the city will break me of it.
I think it is conversation I miss mostly. I have few people hereabouts I can just sit and talk to; bounce ideas off. My friends are just that little bit too distant, and me just little too tired to be arsed swanning of to see them of an evening after work, and the Polish contingent and I have no real common ground other than living in the same house. In many cases we barely share a language.
I could go down the pub, but I am trying to lose pounds avoir dupoir rather than Sterling.
The only other recourse is to wallop something inanimate and that usually has repercussions of its own. Like realising in mid swing of the leg that there is an unlikely comedy anvil under the discarded jumper.
Bugger, damn, blast and drat.
Unfortunately, I am all alone in my garret is Sarf London. So that is not an option. The wine is, but it's a South African Cabernet and I feel that may be a bit too spiky for my mood. Apart from which it needs to be drunk in company (as do I) with a good deal of pointless and tawdry contention on some suitable subject interspersing the mouths full.
And My God, I'm not that pretentious. Well, not without an audience, at least.
I currently have a little writer's block both NWO and Dimpler Towers wise and have written and deleted enough paragraphs on both to fill a paragraph.
I feel vaguely guilty that I have neither painted nor drawn for ages, either. It is many, many moons since I picked up a pencil in anger and longer still since I wasted paint. I have a feeling of penned in creativity in the back of my head and I am restless from it. I can neither define nor express what I mean; I want to do something, make a splash - written, drawn, painted or spoken. But what, I do not know. I am hoping my little trip to Shropshire this weekend to see the folks and get out of the city will break me of it.
I think it is conversation I miss mostly. I have few people hereabouts I can just sit and talk to; bounce ideas off. My friends are just that little bit too distant, and me just little too tired to be arsed swanning of to see them of an evening after work, and the Polish contingent and I have no real common ground other than living in the same house. In many cases we barely share a language.
I could go down the pub, but I am trying to lose pounds avoir dupoir rather than Sterling.
The only other recourse is to wallop something inanimate and that usually has repercussions of its own. Like realising in mid swing of the leg that there is an unlikely comedy anvil under the discarded jumper.
Bugger, damn, blast and drat.
providing I survive the march...
any idea if Paul is in London/Free?
Actually Thursday night is currently earmarked for NWO writing at jfs puter - so that could transpose into enthusiasm for NWO session with your good selves if you are around
Re: providing I survive the march...
Unfortunately this weekend I am in Shrewsbury, otherwise I should have said 'yes' and been available for a meet up.
My ability to be elsewhere when people are likely to be around is legendary. My epitaph will read something along the lines of, Bryan Lea: accidental hermit. They seek him here, they seek him there, those "friendies" seek him everywhere. But he's bugger'd off again.
Bugger, damn and blast. Again.
Oh, and apologies to the Baroness Orczy, too.
no subject
Writer's (or any creative) block is a nightmare. Go, recharge your batteries, enjoy the rolling hills. Have some fun. I shall make a point of making it down to London shortly to share a bottle of that Merlot with you.
no subject