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smokingbootLate show today; and the cats got me up at 6.30. I am tired, pimply and horrible.
Today, unfortunately,larians cannot take me to Stockport station; he has been wonderful so far, but there are times when work just stamps on your head. So I must get to the station under my own steam, which adds an hour to the travel (ignoring the 20 minutes walk dragging a carryall behind me to the station) an hours wait at the other end and then 2 hours travel to London. And then there's the show, ending in the early hours. Christ. Time to make a note: same day travel is a no-go option unless it's by plane. I really can't keep this up.
I really wish I could bunk off today. Still, I'll be back tomorrow in the land of do nothing for days and days. In the meantime, I record the dream I had last night, though I cannnot see anyone else finding this interesting so here comes the cut:
Moving house, taking little boxes full of sweet memories, mementos, junk, with me, but not too many. A fine little tree, overshadowed by another in the garden. I did not know if the other was a tree or simply an enormous weed, and hesitated to kill it. Instead, I laid it out flat on the earth, so both could get sunlight; I resolved that whoever bought the house next could decide what they wanted to do with it. Moving, a pretty house on high ground, silver birch trees around it and lamplight and twilight. The house seemed to be close to where two roads met, or the road dog-legged round or something like that - a bend in the road place. Someone told me I should move to 'Wycombe' or 'Wickham' or 'Widdicombe'* and suggested to me that I look up the word and see what it meant. Then I found myself in conversation with some lovely ladies and realised that I had somehow moved to Australia, and could live anywhere I want and be with these wonderful people. I was working out how close I wanted to be to the aboriginal settlements nearby when I awoke.
*Apparently in habitational terms the name suggests Devon or Somerset; at the very least I should be looking for a valley full of willows. Personally I prefer the Douglas Adams definition of a widdicombe as a person who imitates trimphones.
Today, unfortunately,
larians cannot take me to Stockport station; he has been wonderful so far, but there are times when work just stamps on your head. So I must get to the station under my own steam, which adds an hour to the travel (ignoring the 20 minutes walk dragging a carryall behind me to the station) an hours wait at the other end and then 2 hours travel to London. And then there's the show, ending in the early hours. Christ. Time to make a note: same day travel is a no-go option unless it's by plane. I really can't keep this up.I really wish I could bunk off today. Still, I'll be back tomorrow in the land of do nothing for days and days. In the meantime, I record the dream I had last night, though I cannnot see anyone else finding this interesting so here comes the cut:
Moving house, taking little boxes full of sweet memories, mementos, junk, with me, but not too many. A fine little tree, overshadowed by another in the garden. I did not know if the other was a tree or simply an enormous weed, and hesitated to kill it. Instead, I laid it out flat on the earth, so both could get sunlight; I resolved that whoever bought the house next could decide what they wanted to do with it. Moving, a pretty house on high ground, silver birch trees around it and lamplight and twilight. The house seemed to be close to where two roads met, or the road dog-legged round or something like that - a bend in the road place. Someone told me I should move to 'Wycombe' or 'Wickham' or 'Widdicombe'* and suggested to me that I look up the word and see what it meant. Then I found myself in conversation with some lovely ladies and realised that I had somehow moved to Australia, and could live anywhere I want and be with these wonderful people. I was working out how close I wanted to be to the aboriginal settlements nearby when I awoke.
*Apparently in habitational terms the name suggests Devon or Somerset; at the very least I should be looking for a valley full of willows. Personally I prefer the Douglas Adams definition of a widdicombe as a person who imitates trimphones.
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