Sunday, September 21, 2008

Be Mused

The truth is that I haven’t really been sure what to tell you about. Don’t get me wrong, there’s loads happening. The Axeman has hoofed it over Offa’s Dyke to some foreign university, taking his six stringed razor with him. Boy thus moves up the teenage pecking order and grows ever more Kevin. She Of The Townhouse is running amok in a field with her ‘bad mother’ displacement activities. Asbo continues to disgust and amuse with his adolescent doggy antics. I travel roads in the dead of night and continue to enjoy the new position immensely (stop lloking for smut dammit! Hallett's Mountain has no innuendo above 0.001%).
With all this richness though, the seam I need to tap for blogging is elusive.
Perhaps the nifty gadget that Mike gave me? The bat whisperer?
Trials of the telescope user maybe.
Parties of the end of summer.
Dreams of yesteryear.
Old friends.
The trouble is it all seems just out of reach at the moment. Perhaps because I am lucky and am so busy.
I was mulling over Stienbeck’s introduction to Cannery Row the other day. To tell the stories ….. you know I have just spotted that She Of The Townhouse is suffing an advanced case of trench foot…….in telling stories of the 1920’s Monterey community that he so obviously loved, he reflected on the way in which they should emerge on the page. Remembering the marine life collection expeditions that he took part in with Ed Ricketts he likened the tales to fragile nematoad worms. These were creatures that were so delicate that pulling them out of the mud they live in would inevitably lead to their destruction. The only way that they could sensibly be gathered was to allow them to crawl out on to microscope slides by them selves in their own time.
I claim no other affinity with such great writing, but this I do recognise. Tales often cannot be told until their own sweet time arrives.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Line Out

You know a few months ago She Of The Town House’s drying machine packed up. The heater element stopped working and nothing seemed to get dry. Now I mocked at the time, up here on Hallett’s Mountain I use a proper washing line and pegs but you know what. That seems to be broken now as well.
It doesn’t seem to make any difference how long I hang the washing on it nothing dries there either.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Track And Field Events

The unseasonable weather has forced me to work….Oh incidentally, to all those kind souls that have been kind enough to think about me, the new job is brilliant. Early days yet but I am really enjoying it and my new colleagues are kind and supportive. I shall not be able to write much about it as it is in a hospital and I am very wary of confidentiality issues but it has been a terrific first week and I look forward to going to school with an enthusiasm renewed…..anyway….the work which I started to tell you about…
The last half mile to Hallett’s Mountain is a track that belongs to me alone and as such its my own damn fault if I don’t look after it from time to time. More specifically, when the rainy season arrives, I have to make sure that the water doesn’t tear up the ground under the car.
At the crack of dawn this morning, leaving She Of The Townhouse sleeping soundly in her bed, Asbo and I went out to dig ditches.