This is the view from my bedroom window this morning. It snowed last night. The interesting thing about snow is that you can’t hear it unless it’s delivered by a blizzard. The type of snow that fell last night did not come by blizzard but crept in and sprinkled itself about like the Easter bunny leaving eggs in the bushes for children to find. When you wake up in the morning after the first winter snow, the world looks different, as if a kindly old dame, perhaps one of our Oscar hopefuls, swept up all the bad people and binned them and said to all of us decent folk that are left, ‘Please start again, and this time, do try to get it right.’
It’s just as well I had the presence of mind to take this photo at 10am, (this so doesn’t usually happen), because by midday the snow had melted away, leaving no indication that it had ever been there. For about two hours, my world was fresh and untainted by the arrival of a much more frequent but equally silent phenomenon – bad news. There was the briefest of respites when I fantasised that this might be the day I finally reach the top of some slush pile in any number of locations in
The nice man who was going to buy my flat has disappeared off the face of the earth, perhaps buried in snow, perhaps slitting his wrists after failing the audition for X-Factor, perhaps winning Euromillions and deciding to live in Gstaad – where the snow is obviously more reliable. Or he could have discovered that buying into a housing association estate is like using up all your airmiles on the handcart that will take you to hell - economy class.
Needless to say I did no work on my book today. I did think about inserting a massacre, to harness the passion that was brewing in my soul, especially after a conversation with dimwit No. 107 at the housing association. When I was growing up in
I probably would say this, wouldn’t I, since I’m at the bottom of the socio-economic pile, but I don’t agree with the concept of ‘leadership’. Out of 300 million people, George W Bush is the best that could be found to lead the ‘free world’? Was there no five year old with ADHD available? There is no greater argument than that, but closer to home, my experience of mentors runs the emotional gamut from, well, Me to Me - messianic (Thatcher) through mediocre (Major) to megalomaniac (Blair). Comparing them would be like mushing up apples, pears and peas and trying to chargrill it. Bon appétit!
My earliest working experiences were in cooperatives. When you’re young and fit, showing restraint while arguing with someone whose brain is a mixture of Marx and lentils is admittedly not easy, but uniquely character building. Not only do you learn a lot about socialist theory, you also gather up some very useful recipes. In these ecologically conscious times, they open cans of chick peas rather than doors, but one does what one can to shrink the ecological footprint. How I miss those days when you knew at least if you had the most powerful position and best argument, you could probably convince the rest of your fellow travellers that the song would sound better in 6/8, and no one would fuck you over, unless of course the engineer was more coked out than you’d anticipated.
Last year, in an attempt to try to organise my paranoia a bit better I instigated a weekly worry timetable, so that I could fret more systematically. For newer readers, here it is again.
- Mon – Climate Change
- Tues – ID Theft
- Weds – World Poverty
- Thurs – War on
- Fri – Terrorism
- Sat – Crime and the Causes of Crime
- Sun – Binge Drinking (not mine by the way although the choice of day might tend to indicate a problem on my part – couldn’t be further from the truth – until today at least)
You will see from the above that Wednesday is devoted to concern about world poverty. As much as I would love to have passed the day agonising about the developing world, I am afraid I have rather selfishly frittered it away going spare about how I am going to survive on the tiny amount of savings I still have left. Please pray for my holy slush pile items. I have today bought the cheapest bottle of Sauvignon Blanc it is possible to drink without dying or entering the Guinness Book of World Records for years spent sneezing, and a lottery ticket. Do I really need to ask, unless you have one yourself, in which case good luck (sniff), truly?
Looking at my photo and marvelling at my presence of mind in capturing it on the Kodak, I know that, buyer whereabouts aside, I won’t ever again be able to afford an absolute water frontage and a view like this. I know - it’s a totally English thing. They don’t like to be near the water. They can’t swim you know, AND they’re really scared of sharks, and carp apparently. I will miss this kind of morning. Maybe snow will happen again tomorrow, and who knows, my buyer might come back, battling through the blizzard like Dennis Quaid in The Day After Tomorrow… OK. Now you know I’ve totally lost it, don’t we all feel so much better now?