I hate exercise, I hate the idea of subjecting myself to physical discomfort, its just not my bag. Today, in a bicycle shop I was offered a free push-bike, naturally I declined the offer, what could be more unpleasant than powering an alluminium frame with wheels miles and miles only to feel tired and worn out. I may possibly be a very lazy sod or, as I tell myself, my dislike for breaking a sweat is just an alternative method of living, something I imagine like preferring trains to cars or using whips in the bedroom. I’m all too often accused of laziness by those directly around me yet the hours of concentration that go into my own hobbies; drawing peoples faces, tickling a few ivories, writing these blogs and my new penchant for building Nazi battleships go seemingly unnoticed. I’m not even fat yet my dislike for exercise posts me into a category of plain oddness, that is, according to my over active relatives and thisdoes so annoy me. I occasionally will take myself off on a country lane walk, yet when doing so I still need an ipod to distract me from my repulsion of exercise and it always ends up in a distant beer garden. Perhaps if I was a super-chub and resembled a small cathedral then yes, okay, I would get into it, as for now though please leave in peace at my desk and watch my brain sweat itself into a state of olympic genius.
Yesterday I took a brave step for any self respecting bachelor and actually went to the extremity of cooking my own food, now this was a strange experience as those that know me will understand for after the concoction of fish pasta and some other bits and bobs where finalized in a pan, the food I must say was rather de-lish. So naturally I ate it, this has induced a splendid desire to watch Nigella Lawson on television and consider cooking more often, I know and I agree its probably just a silly phase but I suppose any experience of concocting a dish or two can only come in handy once university beckons my full time and distant attention. There are worse things in life than watching Nigella Lawson – I know she’s old enough to be my mother and yes Its just a phase, but I suppose a new skill can only be a bonus.
For all you lot who currently find my current reading a curiosity then I shall inform you of my current “read” Anna Karenina by Tolstoy is a hefty beast, just as all of Tolstoy’s books generally are, yet as with war and peace it’s hefty, daunting mass can be intimidating, its flow is almost casual and the story so far is gripping enough and naturally similar to “war and peace”. Despite its marathon-esque requirement of dedication “war and peace” is also actually quite a glorious read but anyway. I wonder what it is about Russian art of this period. Perhaps its the destruction of the monarchy in 1917 that renders the whole aristocratic atmosphere of books like Tolstoy’s almost mythical, I shall never know exactly what it is in the short term, though there is (I find) something glorious to be found in Rachmaninoff and Shostakovitch as much as Chekhov and Tolstoy, an over luxury which somewhat represents my feeling of the Romanov’s and the same could be said of the extravagance of all dissolved monarchies, Louis XVI’s France also. This then would also backup the theory that for something to be truly extraordinary then it must be dead and that then is the delusion of a romantic mind.