Early morning, four o’clock to be precise, peaceful, silently unmolested by machinery. The dew hugs the ground as the early birds chatter away without interruption. This, a fine hour and quite my favourite. I’ve just been for a smoke whereby I witnessed all, but right now I write this from my bed, slightly hungry to see the day, hungrier too for my breakfast.
The last two days I’ve spent in bed, lying dormant from some doom ridden malady. I often think if I’m ever damned to bed, I’ll spend it scribbling away, but alas I’ve been most uncomfortable despite wearing a shirt, another shirt, a cardigan, a dressing gown and a woolen overcoat, I’ve been shivering away like a leaf, watching BBC four and shouting silently at Tony Blair.
I’ve been barely able to keep up to date with the formula one testing times which has disappointed me. I feel like I’ve neglected a child, for my brain hasn’t been able to care upon my favourite sport.
I’ve spent this morning, all of it, for I haven’t slept (I’ve done more than enough this past few days) reading war and peace (chapter XVIII) and perusing 60’s cars, 60’s fashion and 60’s music via youtube through my phone.
I like the 60’s or at least the legacy we have today. It appears rather avant garde and edgy whilst still bound within the charms of the olde world, I’d go so far as to say that it’s the olde world structure it clashes with that gives it its chic. Like, I s’pose a huge institution of regulation and decorum to annoy. Like hanging out on the school field instead of going to class. If there was no class to go to then sitting on the field would never be exciting. Perhaps the world isn’t as exciting today courtesy of a lack of “class” to rein us in. today without turning into a Vikings there are no rules to break, no one to innocently shock, no risk without loosing all respect or excitement. I pondered (as I do) as to whether I should take up motor racing but it’s all a bit too safe for me despite some obvious risk, courtesy as the huge safety ethic. It’s a bit like my kitchen yet, I have no ambition of taking up cookery simply because its boring and hardly dangerous unless you go completely witlessly mental.
In fact the only way it ended up on modern TV was when dignity was given the high jump and it stopped being about food but character cooks. that isn’t cookery in my book.
I therefore found myself looking at Grand Prix super-boats instead and wishing my eyesight was good enough to be a fighter pilot.
Anyhow it’s been 30 minutes since I began this wee ramble around mount brain, so I’m going to scoot off now and read the rest of chapter 18.