George has been made assistant editor of a specialist magazine. He is managing the impossible task of keeping an active freelance (bring in a wee bit of dosh) career with his writing career. We are really delighted for him and Avani. They are both really well set up in Norwich now and he even has a bike.
Ooh my butt is full of grapes. Sod it owwwwww!
It’s been ages since I have been awake at 3.30 am and writing my blog. I feel a wave of nostalgia for those steroid soaked streams of consciousness of yore. Here I am again and I have no idea why. It could be an excess of Mars Bar ice creams (I am on one or day) or more likely an extremely disturbing episode of the Sopranos – and I mean disturbing. Series 6 the Finale. It is certainly not my imminent visit to see the consultant in Leeds which promises little change, nor any particular health or other anxiety. I think it might be rather simple – it’s the birds tweeting. Blooming heck they are loud these days.
Here’s a funny thing. Among the many bits that have ‘fallen off’ since I became ill, my hearing seems to have ‘fallen on.’ Or more precisely, like my sight, it has changed. On Saturday we attended the delightful Ellie’s 21st birthday party. She looked like a radiant princess from a sunny fairy tale – any prince would have fallen for her – I did – it was a fantastic affair with all her student dentist friends cheering her on, Appleton Roebuck was transformed into a really bright and vibrant place – however like some “I only ever listen to Mozart” turd I showed my age horribly. The ‘popular music’ was loud but no louder than I was used to with the family band but I really struggled to hear anŷthing at all that was said to me, so much so that in the end I gave up conversing and must have looked like the proverbial sulky puss sitting in silence. Everyone else seemed just fine, bopping along – I was happy enough listening to some great tracks, many of which the family band had played but I was sadly condemned to gestures of mute approval. A great evening for the Baxter family though, they just should not bother to invite one foot in the gravers like me in future. Still, as I was saying, the compensation is that in non noisy conditions I would say my hearing has improved so much so that here in am roused by an insomniac starling to do some blogging. It is very early for birdsong?
I am certainly blogging less. Last year at this time I found it very difficult to be outside and last indoors pummelling the keys like a caffeinated Gordon Brown – he used to need a new keyboard every month cos he was so aggressive in his typing. I was not really moving around and about at all. This year I am enjoying the outside a lot whenever it is sunny and have fun doing things with my hands. Weekends are filled with practical things. The house and garden has been assaulted by my enthusiasm for doing odd jobs. I put washing soda down the drains, it stops them blocking, I hang pictures, I frame pictures, I drill holes and fill the holes I previously drilled. I fix bits of furniture or get them fixed. I have gone manic with lighting, lamps and lamp shades. They are all over the place. Telephones continue to preoccupy me and I still crave a K6 phone box – the red one. In the meantime I have learnt how to get old rotary dial phones to connect to the BT Network. I might have a go with a local network of crank phones (the ones with the handles.) I have expanded my collection of lighters to include an American brand of the 50’s called ‘Evans’. These are so ‘Madmen’ but are much harder to fix than the British brands. One example took me a whole day. I am also on with my lifetimes work project that I am keeping secret in case it flops. It’s pretty time consuming in a repetitive way at present.
We are the proud possessors of a new chimney pot. It has not been fitted yet but is about 6 foot tall and a foot wide – massive. It is designed to rise above the roof line and make our open fire draw properly. Hitherto we a have at time had to open the windows to let the smoke out when the wind was in the wrong direction – now I believe we will be able to run a small chemical works or a Dickensian tanning factory.
Since the election I seem to have lost my outrage. I feel as though I have arrived at a position of weariness when it comes to the bigger world picture. It didn’t take long. When I was ill I had loads of pent up energy that had nowhere to go. It was if my body was constipating my brain so it just flushed itself out in all directions, a silage spray of outrage. I am much calmer now, probably less entertaining in a ‘what stupid thing is he going to say next’ sort of way. I suppose I feel more normal. I have been bored with cancer for ages now. I don’t read about it, never have, I don’t follow the latest ‘breakthrough’ stories or do ‘living with cancer’ fun runs . I don’t seek out those who have it, nor do I avoid them. I have a good friend in the village who has it and we have enjoyed one session of mutual moaning. Her approach is a lot like mine which is very comforting. We can almost compete in the who can be coolest about it competition – we are both cool.
I must admit that I have had the traditional ‘put life in perspective’ moment. I have mentioned this before but have sought to avoid using this specific phrase because it seems so crass. It goes as follows – I take the anarchist position that our current way of regulating humanity leads to wage slavery. We all spend most of our lives doing things to feed the machine that sustains us. The more we feed it the more it wants, we can never hope to satisfy its appetite until it has consumed us and all the things that sustain us. Remove the machine and we may have time to do more to feed ourselves and others less fortunate than us. FIFA is really just a blatant version of our current world order. We are horrified to observe the rich and powerful helping themselves to stuff meant for the poor and powerless. I must remember that when I am next in Primark for a two pound T Shirt or Tesco for a one pound gallon of milk.
Our fountain stands still and firm since Mitch felled it – I think it may have been symbolic hopefully not phallic. The rats are well rotted. The hens are surprisingly still alive and extremely loveable in a thick as shit sort of way. A new cat is in the neighbourhood but so far can only be seen staring enviously out the window at our two playing metaphorical croquet and polishing their Purdey’s on the lawn – na na na na na – they purr, we are not house cats! Brian, our farmer neighbour, has a vintage tractor I am envious of. Our neighbours hung Tory posters in their window during the election just to annoy me – it worked. Maria’s mum is coping well with insulin and Arthur is the next Herbert von Karajan – not really its just that he had a conducting exam recently. He has some fantastic stories to tell which sadly I cannot repeat (danger of being whacked). He is working 12 hour 7 day weeks at the moment – ahhh the joys of showbiz.
Love to you all