Thursday, 2 December 2010

Most Vaunted: The Ghost in the Machine

Good Morning everyone . . . well, the day began with an unwarranted early start at around 4 am, long before the sun which now, at nearly 8.30 is struggling to show its face; sleep simply deserted me and now stands at the back of my chair, wanting me to succumb to its all too obvious charms . . .

At least I got to do some of the work which has been playing on my mind; I don't have much of a work ethic but like to meet deadlines and stay on target . . . it's a rare example of self-discipline I suppose . . . pass the flail Sister Concepta! Or should that be scourge? It's a very bizarre thing to consider actually; mortifying the flesh to increase piety . . . hmmm . . . ah well, takes all sorts I s'pose!

So, I'm currently waiting to hear if mine own dear sister can escape the the Tower and make her way down the hillside into the valley below to meet for luncheon; it all depends if she experienced the much vaunted or possibly dreaded arrival of snow, which here failed to materialise once again although, having been pooching already this morning, I can confirm it is not the warmest of days and, I suppose, anything could happen, meteorologically speaking . . . it does remind me of some years ago when I lived a rural existence but had to drive into the town each day, just how important the weather forecast was; if, for example there had been heavy rain I knew that certain roads would be impassable, or snow would mean this or that route was more dangerous and was best avoided . . . now living here in the heart of theatreland and not possessing a car the main consideration is which footwear to employ to prevent ones arse ending up on the pavement! That and wondering which form of public transport will be cancelled / be late  / simply not turn up.

I can feel the need for a cup of tea to waken myself up; I shall take a brief break and return to you forthwith . . .

. . . some footsore hours later here I am, returned to the fold following an expedition with Cate - who managed to get here despite icy underfoots - around the retail centres of the town plus a visit to the Halls of the Mounting Thrill to meet up with the OD.  I was pondering what to buy her for Christmas and think I may have hit upon an idea; there are these preposterously large blankets with sleeves called, rather unsurprisingly, Slanketts  and I think one of those would be just the job as she loves to read but often nods off whilst doing so and wakes up as chilled as gazpacho!  Now, the only issue is whether I try and locate one in the town or buy off the web . . . Hmmm! Quandaries! If any of you in the town spot one of these elusive beasts please be sure to let me know . . .

And so in the evening draws  and, around the library, lamps are lit and curtains closed to prevent the darkness staining the pages . . . beyond the glass the wind growls while, high above, snow crystals form and prepare to fall, blanketing the streets and muffling sounds like a tactile type of fog, less nebulous and much colder . . . inside the fire burns and I stare at  faces I have known and faces yet to meet, mingling in the leaping flames . . . my profile, reflected in the mirror, is that of a stranger in a darkened room, writing in a pool of light, face ghostly blued by the hue of the screen, intent on the words before his eyes and now, before yours too.

'til next time

Be Seeing You !

1 comment:

  1. JML do those kind of blankets, try Wilkies or the Range x