Slipping off the surly desk manacles
Vivid dream just before we got out of bed this morning. I was trying to stop a child from falling, held onto his Guernsey jumper, but he slipped out of it and tumbled onto a harbour floor at low tide and was horribly injured. I blame Anton for banging on about Guernsey jumpers the other day. Feel like Frasier Crane this morning. What did the little boy represent? Me? My inner child? Something precious I was unable to hold onto, and if so what? Or did it mean absolutely nothing?
A chat with the Tobster this morning, now safely at Mum's place, and having tramped about in Hampstead with Mum yesterday afternoon. I am meeting Mum and Toby up in London on Friday, which I am really looking forward to.
I sketched out a new idea for a short story, but far more seductive was the idea of slipping off the surly manacles of work and walking about in the sun, a spot of 'if in doubt tidy' tidying, reading and watching Apollo documentaries. Too much of this sort of thing, however, and I begin to feel like a bloke sitting around pointlessly at home. Feel a pressing need to rejoin the human race again and stop being so self oriented for a while.
Went for a walk up to the hill fort and round and about. Just a couple of streets before home, I bumped into Clem who had bartered a boiler repair for sorting out a friends front garden trees. Admired his handiwork.
L and I had salmon and bulgar wheat tonight. I am still gradually losing weight, with no sense of hardship or missing out. This is not a diet it is a way of life. Had a small can of beer tonight, while watching an episode of Catch 22. I savoured it for ages. This is progress.
Below Blaker's Park reminded me a little of Georges Seurat (Bathers at Asnières) this afternoon.