I just discovered that all my notes from my iPhone get saved automatically into a ‘Notes’ folder in my email. I thought this was so awesome that I decided to share some of my notes with you. That and you also get a brilliant glimpse into the meanderings of my mind.
I cant possibly get married.
I rub my feet together in bed which is really annoying.
I have all kinds of stupid habits – talk to cats, food, the Hoover, the iron.
There’s always a million things I’ll ‘just do’ before I go to bed or leave the house.
I shout at the telly especially when things get political – I am socialist by genetics and certain massively intolerant responses are just hardwired; then the Times-reading bit of me dives in and gets angry about something utterly contrary.
I’m frankly far too busy as it is and I very much doubt that would ever change.
And finally, I really couldn’t stand losing someone so completely as becoming a widow, but if I marry, it’s statistically likely that I will both marry someone older than myself and then go on to live to a greater age. I mean, there’s always divorce, but one way or another there’s grief there that I both cannot and have no wish to imagine.
I remember writing this just after watching the first episode of ‘Single Father’ which might explain the sentiment; somehow I doubt any of these points (‘too busy’, seriously?) will stop me, if I meet the right man…
Vanilla Sky – Tom Cruise nonstick film.
Primarily included into this blog because my phone spell-check-corrected ‘mindfuck’ to ‘nonstick’ which amused me a lot at the time.
Its a beautiful day, the clouds crisp, grey, White and yellow, the sky a perfect blue, yellowing around the edges in that wintry sunset day. Every colour is at it’s richest, the grass so green, the trees a full, greenish ochre, the soil so very brown. It’s crisp and cold, and the first few birds are heading south in ragged diagonals and ‘v’s. Everyone who can be there is by your side, and we are all as near to you as we can be in spirit. I know how tired you are. And I hope, soon, that you find you can close your eyes, let go, and drift away. I hope the journey is pleasant and easy, and we will hold your hands as far along the way as we can. I hope there’s someone to meet you at the other end, your brothers and sisters, granddad Cliff, everyone. These are all the things I wish I knew how to say to you in person.
All I managed to say was how much I loved you, what a brilliant grandmother you’ve been, and that I will teach my children all the flowers.
I wrote this on the train home after seeing Gran for the last time. Subject and motivation probably fairly obvious.
McGuigans Shiraz often on offer in Sainsbos.
A worthy tip-off.
I wrote a poem about eating plums. I’m not posting it up here because on re-reading it’s actually rather good and worth working on, and also fairly obviously about someone in particular, and I’m not happy about sticking it up here, because I don’t think it’s fair on the subject(s) of this poem to do so. Don’t really know why I wrote all that.
Butter, onion, cheese, green lentils, chorizo
12.50 Martin -6.50
The Cat Empire
This is a combination of complicated money-laundering schemes with friends – by which I mean I bought them some food, or they bought me some food, and how much we each owed one another or something – and music which I wanted to make note of to hunt down later.
So, there you go. The usual strange mix of things, from the mundane – food, money owed to/from friends – to the dreamy and artistic (if not exactly talented), to the inspirational – buy wine! listen to music! – to the frankly insane – ‘I can’t get married because I rub my feet together when I’m falling asleep and it’s really annoying’.
Oh, yes, and I really do talk to inanimate objects. All of them, all the time. I really don’t mean to; it’s frankly embarassing.