Some partial thoughts. . .

Monday 3 June 2019

There is a dangerous man in the neighbourhood.

Word has got around.

For me – I must get more deliberate in my movements.

 

On another note: Ivanka knows how to find, and play to, the cameras.

 

I’ve got to dig out the old pond today – there is concrete, which is going to come out, left under a pile of soil.

When it does (come out), that will help the drainage at that end of the garden.

 

It’ll all be in the papers, but I wondered which tiara the Queen would wear.

It had red stones – and the necklace.

They will have been some famous gems.

Camilla wore a tiara, which I was pleased to see.

She holds her own and gets on well with everyone.

 

What do I know?  I wasn’t there.  We were getting some (?) [can’t read my writing] – having been taken in by all coverage – interminably – on the news – especially the men didn’t seem to know their arse from their elbow (sorry, she murmured).

Katherine looked very nice in an all-over frilled dress – she is so naturally slim she can wear this sort of thing (that adds bulk to your silhouette).  She smiles well.  She socialises well.

I didn’t see Melania going into the banquet – I’d finally given up on the news – were they never going to get down to the speeches (which we, as viewers, were waiting for) and then eat?

If I was invited to a State Banquet (I’d go), I might decline – I’d never sleep having eaten so much (which I would) so late.

These are mere notes and in no way accurate.

Oh – I saw that it is okay to shake the hand of the Queen.

That is disappointing.  When did that come in?

Debutantes used to go and curtsy to the Queen.

There is in no way, now, the respect there once was.

I won’t put all of this into the blog.

I’d curtsy.  I’m sure people do still curtsy and bow – I suppose it depends on what they (and she) are doing – I’m sure I’ve seen them bowing when she is giving out knighthoods and such . . .

No doubt, I’ll catch up today on who wore what.

Attack on Sadiq Khan, but did Sadiq Khan start it?

There are widespread protests and that is not fake news.

I think I’m at something of an impasse here.

Garden.

Humph!  Humph!

I said, in my last blog, that I always felt terrible in – I think it was – March.  (In fact, April is worse.)

And a blogger – he said – oh, surely just the moving over of the – blah, blah – sun or equinox or (insert your favourite flavour of knowledge) can’t change anything?

Well, have things your own way – through physics or meteorology or –

do have difficulties every year in March, and things get worse in April.

I don’t know how I get through.  I really don’t.

But I do.

So far, I have done.

But there are always surprises at this time of year.

Oh, there are different discourses, you know, different world-views – don’t get me started on all that.

But that guy, big-head though he was, was not even on the same page from which I had started!

Bleeugh!!

I’m pretty much not sure what to write next, so disrupted do I feel.

The insomnia, yes – but that was a three-pronged point of culmination.  I had a cold.  It was a worse cold than I’d had for some time.  Colds were doing the rounds.  It was a knock-out one where I’d go for a ‘little lie-down’ and – bang – I’d be away, sleeping for hours.  And then again – I’d go and lie down and – bang –

My lack of consciousness over this was weird – I didn’t seem to learn from past – recent – experience.  It was as though the cold itself took over – if I’d been out in the street I’d have dropped down –

No.  I exaggerate.

But it was a strong cold.

And I couldn’t eat!

I ‘made myself’ eat, but the spoonful of cauliflower cheese in the middle of a vast plate – it looked alien, as though it could never belong to me, never become a part of me.

Oh – all this only lasted in its ferocity for a few days – but it did put me out – and then there was a long recovery of a few weeks where a sore breathing tube extended its distress to my chest from which . . .

Sorry.  (Got to apologise.)  You probably feel sick with all this detail.

Maybe that was why, with all that sleeping over two or three days – yes, that, I see, saved to the other extreme – insomnia, full blown, for three nights running –

I’m making this up as I go along but I think it sounds plausible – maybe that was it.

I’m in the process of filling in my old pond in the garden.

There is a lack of soil but the two pot-ponds are almost in, and I have discovered, at the other end, a lined sunken bit that was going to be, I remember now, my bog garden.

That didn’t exactly work out all those years ago – which reminds me – I did have a candleabra-whatsit-whatsit there – looks like I’ve lost it.

You can’t harbour them all.

Anyway – there was compacted soil in that dread spot, which I have dug out, and put in some of the old-pond space.

I have many and varied pebbles from a (nearby) sands, which should not have been taken, but there was the cat then, and the fish in the water, and something of a barrier had to be made between the two – but I am getting into my history too much – that is already written – somewhere.  I need large coffers – no, that’s not quite it – chests – to keep my writing pages in – yes – I have it all on paper as well as on USB sticks and on the computer-proper – no, it’s a desktop –

 

That’s another thing – I don’t give the whys and wherefores.  This is off the top of my head.

I have the feeling that it applies (not giving the whys and wherefores) to instances of my past, and that it has become, at least in relatively recent years (say the last twenty or so, particularly) something I can’t help doing, so keen have I become to express that past.

Recently (over the past couple of weeks, say – it is surprising how this ‘recent’ can expand and contract), I have developed a desire to show by example.  But I do believe I have been doing that all along, as my position of default.  I can try other ways, but they fall flat.

 

Another thing – all that wittering on I’ve done (I’ve been looking at ‘October 2014’) about not ‘fitting in’ to – preconceived boxes, basically.

It always comes about through my writing, this – and, at the time, I think there must be something wrong with me.

You have to fit with certain criteria or you don’t get on in the world (or in work).

But my writing is a special case.  No, I can’t fit it into what tutors on courses (some courses – most courses) would have me fit into.

They have no idea what they are asking of me.

They have not one clue.

 

But you see, I didn’t conform, Dad.

“You’ll conform,” Dad said.

But I didn’t conform.

 

. . . at least one frog – I have to cater for it as I can.

And so the pot-ponds are going to have to be buried, not put on top of the ground with water-plants in them, as I have envisaged.

And I’m considering getting another shed the same size as the one I’ve been stuck with (it is collapsing).  For absolute years I have been wanting a smaller shed, but I won’t be able to get everything in a smaller shed.

And the garden is as it is.

There is still nowhere to sit in the garden – I need to work in a bench somewhere . . .

 

I’m very suspicious.

If anyone had said I was very suspicious, I would have thought that was ridiculous.

And it probably would have been.  I think I have got more and more suspicious as I’ve got older.

I particularly don’t trust systems, and therefore people who go by them – work in them.

I can’t say, you see, that health-systems are not reliable – but I have come a cropper on more than one occasion with them.

But I gave that merely as an example.