Freud Fish
Monday, August 22nd, 2005 02:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanSo. Lunchtime.
I managed to restrain my impulse to go out CD purchasing. I talked my ever-acquisitive Id into waiting until Saturday, when I can get to Steve's Sounds just off Charing Cross Road, where his 'off the back of a truck' prices are more to the liking of my wallet. My Id, of course, cares little for such economic niceties and is bouncing up and down screaming, "Want now! Want now!". My Superego is standing by with a cattle prod and mop, just in case it shows signs of getting its way.
This was all particularly difficult because the short walk to Sainsbury's to stock up on coffee takes me perilously close to the station, and I could quite easily have wandered off unconsciously, acquired a CD and returned to the office coffee-less. Tricky, but mission accomplished.
Of course, this was helped by the fact that it is raining. It is that 'worst of all worlds' type of rain in that it is persistent, but not heavy; more a heavy mist/drizzle. The temperature is still somewhere around 70 degrees too, so the humidity is high, almost as though the air is sweating.
These past few days we have had much of the rain we failed to get in the spring.
Were I a farmer, I should be shaking my fist at the skies and cursing the rain for the flat, wet wheat fields with their potentially ruined harvest. It's the sort of weather that makes lesser people build Wicker Men to propitiate angry gods. Except, of course, that they wouldn't burn because it's too damp. Kerosene would redress the balance, but weather and fertility gods tend to look askance at that sort of thing. It's a bit like using firelighters to get the barbecue going; it just isn't cricket, and the steaks taste odd afterward.
Best, I think, just to take a couple of cans of chicken soup to the harvest festival, and if anyone asks, you can just look accusingly upwards and mutter about the weather and rubbish harvests.
Churches tend to have lightning rods, see.
I managed to restrain my impulse to go out CD purchasing. I talked my ever-acquisitive Id into waiting until Saturday, when I can get to Steve's Sounds just off Charing Cross Road, where his 'off the back of a truck' prices are more to the liking of my wallet. My Id, of course, cares little for such economic niceties and is bouncing up and down screaming, "Want now! Want now!". My Superego is standing by with a cattle prod and mop, just in case it shows signs of getting its way.
This was all particularly difficult because the short walk to Sainsbury's to stock up on coffee takes me perilously close to the station, and I could quite easily have wandered off unconsciously, acquired a CD and returned to the office coffee-less. Tricky, but mission accomplished.
Of course, this was helped by the fact that it is raining. It is that 'worst of all worlds' type of rain in that it is persistent, but not heavy; more a heavy mist/drizzle. The temperature is still somewhere around 70 degrees too, so the humidity is high, almost as though the air is sweating.
These past few days we have had much of the rain we failed to get in the spring.
Were I a farmer, I should be shaking my fist at the skies and cursing the rain for the flat, wet wheat fields with their potentially ruined harvest. It's the sort of weather that makes lesser people build Wicker Men to propitiate angry gods. Except, of course, that they wouldn't burn because it's too damp. Kerosene would redress the balance, but weather and fertility gods tend to look askance at that sort of thing. It's a bit like using firelighters to get the barbecue going; it just isn't cricket, and the steaks taste odd afterward.
Best, I think, just to take a couple of cans of chicken soup to the harvest festival, and if anyone asks, you can just look accusingly upwards and mutter about the weather and rubbish harvests.
Churches tend to have lightning rods, see.