Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

Deep breath. Sound the advance! By the left, Quick March!.

I go now to make changes to the layout of The Tower in an attempt to a) tidy it somewhat and b) introduce a measure of Furtleproofing to the breakables.

I'm not sure this is possible, but I must give it a try; the results of many years' of geeky collecting are suddenly on the endangered list and few are replaceable. I have a plan which involves moving some furniture about. Doubtless the new arrangement will provide new and exciting possibilities for cold cast porcelain catastrophe, but one must make the effort. I think that bounceable plastic bric-a-brac will find its way to the fore, with the more fragile elements pushed back into the relative gloom.

The next stage, of course, will be to dust (shudder) and maybe hoover.

This may take some time....

I think that I have worked out why I couldn't sleep last night. Sometime during the past twelve hours, I have made the transition from Earth Parallel 00 to one of the alternate parallels which intersect with our own. I cannot confirm this, because as yet I have to see any Airships plying their trade along the Imperial Air Routes. I suspect that in most respects this parallel must be very close to that which I am accustomed to inhabit, so once a few necessary adjustments have been made to my expectations I shall get along fine. The similarities extend to the fluff bunnies on the floor in the corner of my computer room, and the stack of unwashed laundry in the corner of my bedroom. I'm guessing, then, that this is no more than Parallel 0001, with only a minor divergence from my reality.

That might account for the paucity of Airships.

This reality contains a far more diligent and house-proud Beastie with whom to share the Athenaeum Club. I was shocked to wander downstairs to find that a SPRING CLEAN was under way, plus WASHING UP. I am not used to this, and having helped out a little (though Beastie is mostly to be blamed praised for this sudden infusion of domesticity), I have just spent a few minutes wandering around The Tower with a bin bag, picking up random items of detritus to take down to the bin.

Further signs exist that this is an alternative reality: His Beastiness has opened a Live Journal of his own: colonel_maxim, but has yet to write anything in it. Further evidence that reality is only slightly warped and not too far from the usual.

To be on the safe side and ensure that I have made the transition, rather than Beastie having been replaced by a Pod-Person, I shall slink around later tonight and check the cupboards for sounds of scritting and muffled moans. Some of them are big enough for a bundled Beastie to have been hidden in.