It begins with a shiver....

... on a cold Winter's morning in the early hours.

Only a fool would be awake at this hour.

And I am that fool.

It begins with a shiver....

... on a cold Winter's morning in the early hours.

Only a fool would be awake at this hour.

And I am that fool.

(no subject)

Ah. Warm at last. I really must do something about the heating in yon garret, but as soon as I get warm my notoriously minuscule memory wanders off and picks daisies. Of course this doesn't stop it getting a good bollocking when the temperature drops again.

But a memory bedecked in daisy chains and so clearly cheerful is hard to stay mad at: especially when you and it forget why you're arguing part way through.

So I sit at my desk, feeling warm and smiling benignly, wondering how I can have hay fever in early January.

(no subject)

Ah. Warm at last. I really must do something about the heating in yon garret, but as soon as I get warm my notoriously minuscule memory wanders off and picks daisies. Of course this doesn't stop it getting a good bollocking when the temperature drops again.

But a memory bedecked in daisy chains and so clearly cheerful is hard to stay mad at: especially when you and it forget why you're arguing part way through.

So I sit at my desk, feeling warm and smiling benignly, wondering how I can have hay fever in early January.

Bored

The initial joy of being warm and cozy in the office has worn off.

It has been replaced instead by that listless feeling you get when you realise that no matter what you do to your in-tray, the same or similar will be there on the morrow and on the day after that, ad infinitum.

So now I am close to comatose with boredom. To the point, indeed, that I am actively thinking up wizard japes to leave early. Theoretically I could be using the time on private projects such as staring ata blank screen and trying to conjure up a character sheet for NWO, but it has moved beyond that into that malaise that only the truly glum can raise.

If my mood deteriorates much further I do believe I shall have to buy a country album on my way home.

But no. Experience tells me that once out of the doors this evening, the mood will lighten dramatically and almost instantly, so I shall maintain my resolve and endure.

To quote the Floyd, "Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way."

And one is nothing if not English.

But I'm still bored.....

Bored

The initial joy of being warm and cozy in the office has worn off.

It has been replaced instead by that listless feeling you get when you realise that no matter what you do to your in-tray, the same or similar will be there on the morrow and on the day after that, ad infinitum.

So now I am close to comatose with boredom. To the point, indeed, that I am actively thinking up wizard japes to leave early. Theoretically I could be using the time on private projects such as staring ata blank screen and trying to conjure up a character sheet for NWO, but it has moved beyond that into that malaise that only the truly glum can raise.

If my mood deteriorates much further I do believe I shall have to buy a country album on my way home.

But no. Experience tells me that once out of the doors this evening, the mood will lighten dramatically and almost instantly, so I shall maintain my resolve and endure.

To quote the Floyd, "Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way."

And one is nothing if not English.

But I'm still bored.....

As suspected...

Straight out of the office and an icy blast of wind did the trick.

Life returned.

An early exit was procured after much mental shenanigans through the simple expedient of lying through my teeth. Sometimes I think too much; why reason out a strategy when plain honest-to-goodness falsehood works on a trusting boss every time.

Anyway she'd called my fedora a cowboy hat and that is quite, quite unforgivable.

So out and home. No longer in the mood for a country album (happily), the thought of musical acquisition had taken root and germinated quickly. Hence I am now the proud owner of 40 Licks: the best of the Rolling Stones 1962 to date, the remastered Brothers in Arms - the version where they turned the volume up on the mixing desk so the damned thing is actually audible (unlike the original which had to be cranked up for quiet listening; inevitably you would forget and blow your speakers and eardrums out with the next CD loaded). And, to my surprise, the Avril Lavigne album, Let Go. Having caught a few tracks over a period of weeks, I was rather surprised to hear (largely) Rock music where appearances would suggest that kind of R&B which has nothing to do with R&B (TLC and that ilk). So I am now the proud owner of a CD by a young woman barely older than my niece (indeed, my niece has a copy of her own!).

An indication that my musical tastes may not be quite as petrified as perhaps I had previously thought? A kick against the stereotypical view of youth music (That's NOT music! In my day....)? Enroaching senility, perhaps, I was rude about my memory earlier, that's another sign.

It occurs to me that since I started typing this I've run out of Avril Lavigne tracks and the Stones are bending my ears with what was once termed R&B but is now remembered as R&R. The music is about 4 years younger than me. And I'm shaking a mental tail feather to it.

It's a gas, gas, gas.

I still dance like me dad (worse, actually, and then only if forced at gun point) so perhaps I am capable of acting my age - barely.

Okay, now I'm going mad. The Stones have an aetherial (you should excuse the deliberate use of the diphthong - I fear they are an endangered species and I do try to preserve the richness of our linguistic heritage even when waffling)choir on the track playing now.

Hmm... "You can't always get what you want" I do believe the DJs of the past 40 years have edited off the choiry bit.

Well I never.

I was tired when I started writing this. What a cathartic exercise it is, since I now feel quite spry. I think I shall invest in a cup of coffee even though that will entail sleeping on the ceiling again tonight.

I hope that you, my only reader, sleep well. But if not kindly keep the noise down.

Some of us have to pretend to work in the morning.

Thank you kindly and good-night.

As suspected...

Straight out of the office and an icy blast of wind did the trick.

Life returned.

An early exit was procured after much mental shenanigans through the simple expedient of lying through my teeth. Sometimes I think too much; why reason out a strategy when plain honest-to-goodness falsehood works on a trusting boss every time.

Anyway she'd called my fedora a cowboy hat and that is quite, quite unforgivable.

So out and home. No longer in the mood for a country album (happily), the thought of musical acquisition had taken root and germinated quickly. Hence I am now the proud owner of 40 Licks: the best of the Rolling Stones 1962 to date, the remastered Brothers in Arms - the version where they turned the volume up on the mixing desk so the damned thing is actually audible (unlike the original which had to be cranked up for quiet listening; inevitably you would forget and blow your speakers and eardrums out with the next CD loaded). And, to my surprise, the Avril Lavigne album, Let Go. Having caught a few tracks over a period of weeks, I was rather surprised to hear (largely) Rock music where appearances would suggest that kind of R&B which has nothing to do with R&B (TLC and that ilk). So I am now the proud owner of a CD by a young woman barely older than my niece (indeed, my niece has a copy of her own!).

An indication that my musical tastes may not be quite as petrified as perhaps I had previously thought? A kick against the stereotypical view of youth music (That's NOT music! In my day....)? Enroaching senility, perhaps, I was rude about my memory earlier, that's another sign.

It occurs to me that since I started typing this I've run out of Avril Lavigne tracks and the Stones are bending my ears with what was once termed R&B but is now remembered as R&R. The music is about 4 years younger than me. And I'm shaking a mental tail feather to it.

It's a gas, gas, gas.

I still dance like me dad (worse, actually, and then only if forced at gun point) so perhaps I am capable of acting my age - barely.

Okay, now I'm going mad. The Stones have an aetherial (you should excuse the deliberate use of the diphthong - I fear they are an endangered species and I do try to preserve the richness of our linguistic heritage even when waffling)choir on the track playing now.

Hmm... "You can't always get what you want" I do believe the DJs of the past 40 years have edited off the choiry bit.

Well I never.

I was tired when I started writing this. What a cathartic exercise it is, since I now feel quite spry. I think I shall invest in a cup of coffee even though that will entail sleeping on the ceiling again tonight.

I hope that you, my only reader, sleep well. But if not kindly keep the noise down.

Some of us have to pretend to work in the morning.

Thank you kindly and good-night.