Helluva Day.

I did clean the car as I said I probably would. I missed a bit on the roof and excused myself on the grounds that I’m still post-operative, but the car was unimpressed. I apologised to him and promised to do better next time.

And then I went for a walk but didn’t climb the stile I mentioned previously because I was washed out from cleaning the car. Instead, I sat on the stile, talked at length to the copper beech tree, and dreamed about the old days. As I was losing myself in historical reverie, a strange and violent story began to take shape in my head. I felt myself entering one of my alternate realities again, which is where all my stories came from. I snapped myself out of it but the shining light and the little dog had disappeared so I wended my weary way home. I thought of writing the story down but decided against it because I don’t generally write violent stories (The Charlie Club was an exception), and it’s fortunate that I did because I’ve forgotten the plot anyway.

I had a phone conversation with Mel this evening. She’s just moved house and we fell out over whether the residue of tobacco smell left in the carpets, walls and curtains by the previous occupant’s heavy smoking habit could be described as ‘smoke fumes.’ We also disagreed on whether her two new kittens needed to be isolated from said ‘fumes’ because it might make them ill. She said I was being irrational, but I wasn’t.

The excitement of it all left me feeling tired thereafter.

Music now. This 5 minute clip from YouTube is pretty damn good if you like that sort of thing. (I’m into hand pans at the moment, which are thankfully nothing to do with hospitals.)