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.

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.