Monday, June 01, 2009

1st of June

I woke up this morning with a red and sunburnt neck and for some strange reason a notion that the time had come to shave my feet. I’ve no idea if this was based on a dream, deep hygiene issues of some sort or a need to be less of a Hobbit and more of an Elf. It did coincide with a strange plan for a pop video to accompany the track “Air Kisses”, the tune that was running on in parallel in my head. I needed to collect my thoughts but couldn’t so I collected a generous portion of rhubarb crumble and custard instead, popped them in a bag and headed of across the bridge to Fife, the plan being to put in a long, productive day at work.

During the unseasonal weather, which reminds us all of the unexpected passing of global warming before our eyes and into our homes, I’ve been sustained by two things (apart from the usual goodies delivered by families and friends): Iced Lucozade, fizzing on it’s ginger own and the refreshing long drink known as overage and chilled Tennants Lager in a 50/50 relationship with 7 Up. The effects on body chemistry are drastic but manageable, the effects of the brain, the central nervous system and middle-aged and over heated addled thought processes are less clear. A glass of red wine at the ceremonial sunset celebrations whilst observing the mating of the swifts on the telephone wires also helps create an unnatural sense of balance with nature and the cosmos. “Aurum Solis” as they say. The sad part is that we seldom have the opportunity to experiment with our fluid levels and internal coolant, the weather will change tomorrow and soon this bright blue and sunny, sparkly experience will be a distant memory. I like seeing those spots before my eyes, just for short periods of time like a Stuka pilot.

“It’s a gravy train” says the crowing and baying media over MPs excessive expenses claims. Not a pretty picture that , open trains full of Bisto chugging from constituency to constituency with their brown and lumpy cargo spilling over into garden centres, real estate agents, electrical suppliers and cleaning companies. Meanwhile Alistair Dali a man who flits four times in four years is the new surrealist chancellor, flitting steadily away from responsibility, reasonable behaviour and reality. The good thing is that we are all shocked and outraged by this, we somehow expected more from these dullards. If we lived some real dictatorship or under any other totalitarian rule it would all be considered normal behaviour from the blatantly corrupt leadership. Perhaps the thin illusion of democracy has clouded our own judgement for too long.
The molehill is bigger today.

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