I love the smell of Pot Noodle in the morning, or even at 1235, the actual time. Some well meant predictions from 2010:
“I pledge to vote against an increase in tuition fees”, Nick Clegg, Vince Cable, Danny Alexander etc.
“2010 will be an excellent year for higher education”, Alan Johnston.
“A British nuclear disaster and a Tory victory (?)”, Sarah Goldsmith.
“David Cameron will fail to form a government”, James Macintyre.
“England to win the World Cup”, Mathew Burgess and Marco Dion.
“David Milliband to lead the Labour Party”, Nick Robinson.
“This winter will be unusually mild and dry”, Met Office on 28th October 2010.
“Quantum physics to discover how to generate electricity from water”, Jane’s Psychic Predictions for 2010.
“The Euro is a protection against the (financial) crisis“, Jose Manuel Barraso.
“We’ll write more material and play more gigs in 2010”, Impossible Songs.
I admire all good and hopeful intentions of these prediction makers, sadly they didn’t get it right for a variety of reasons. The older you get the more you realise that nobody really knows what they are talking about, but clearly they enjoy living in the illusion and broadcasting whenever is convenient. So what about 2011?
When the day began I had a headful of wild, trapped and untapped ideas. It was a marvellous experience, mulling over how these ideas would eventually translate into some kind of reality. It all looked so promising until I thoughtlessly sipped a cup of coffee and read one of the Sunday papers. The mind work was immediately erased and I am left, desolate with a blank sheet of crumpled paper somewhere inside my head, that is until I start again tomorrow.
Spent the rest of this chilly Boxing Pox afternoon studying Durer’s Rhinocesors, Franks Casket, the Lindow Man and the potted history of Barclay James Harvest.