faith in wordless knowledge

an afternoon's entertainment
Originally uploaded by etcher67.

(sneezing x runny nose) + ukulele playing = sore fingers

I always have to fight the temptation to extrapolate the slightest problem into a world-shattering catastrophe. To call this a bad habit is an understatement of epic proportions. Getting my camera back without having to pay for its repair is one of those rare pieces of good fortune which buoys up the growing evidence that I don't necessarily have to jump off the cheerful cliff. Maybe I can stand on the edge and waver a bit, and everything will turn out OK. It's a nice thought.

(I'm not sure how convinced I really am, to be honest; which is why it seems important to write it down.)

i could tell you about the river, or we could just get in

I have spent a lot of my weekend sitting: on sofas, folding plastic chairs, leather seats; the train, the tube, my garden bench. We sit at tables, in halls and restaurants, living rooms, by the bar. We sit looking and listening: we talk, we read, we laugh.

Sometimes, we just sit.

all nature was in tune

I have been on holiday. My camera broke and I lost all my photos, I left my favourite scarf at the top of a mountain, I caught a cold and the water in the house we were staying in stopped working.

It was brilliant. I wish I were still there.

07

Martinis, red wine, champagne, marc. We lie under the covers and wait for the hangover to kick in. When it hits like a marshmallow juggernaut the only solution is to lie on the sofa all afternoon listening to the silence and watching television through slitted eyes. Wrapped up, warm, perfect.

Happy New Year.

been an awful good girl...

I go Christmas shopping. I lurk around Seven Dials with my coat zipped up to my nose and wander in and out of surprisingly quiet shops touching things and then walking away from them. After an hour or so of this I make a very minor present purchase.

Then I go to the London Graphics centre and buy myself two new drawing pens, a new Moleskine notebook (which I dither about for ages as it really is exceptionally expensive for what it is) and a magazine with the strapline 'for Good Looking, Smart People'. (I decide that I am definitely both of these.) These purchases makes me feel like an artist, which is silly really; but it still feels nice. I then spend some considerable time standing in front of rainbow-striped packing tape, trying to come up with a reason why I ought to buy myself some. This makes me feel like a seven-year old, which doesn't feel too bad either.

Abandoning the tape I wander about Covent Garden for a bit in a little bubble of my own making: eat a pasty, ignore the street performers, and do a lot more touching and walking away. As I walk back to the train I am sucked as if by magic into an electrical shop to buy myself some new headphones.

I am good at Christmas shopping.