When I first moved into my flat, the windows were... shall we say... manky?
One of the first improvements I made, in fact, was getting the windows and front door replaced with sparkly new plastic-framed, 'low energy glass' things that have little vents to combat damp, and a facility to lock the opening panes in a position that can only be described as 'ajar'.
Of course, life isn't so simple that these sorts of measures mean there's no condensation and damp, just that it's substantially reduced. Last time I gave the window frames a bit of a wipe, I found hints of mould. Nothing serious - not even as bad as I used to get on the windows at my folks' place.
Nevertheless, this led to an interesting dream last night - which is strange because it wasn't yesterday that I last wiped the window frames, it was months ago - whereby I found not just mould, but a whole strange ecosystem on my window frames. There were several types of moss, a large growth of mould and - most puzzlingly - a full cactus, spikes and all.
It was made up of little ball-shaped segments - like Golden Barrel cacti or, strangely, the hallucinogenic cacti from which mescaline is derived - but very, very small - at most about a centimetre in diameter - and very tightly packed into a small bush shape.
And growing out of my window frame.
Dear reader, I have not the words.
I remember pointing it all out to someone in the dream, but cannot recall what happened next. Given my aversion to all things cacti, a similar situation in real life would probably result in the application of fire to the whole window frame, just to be sure.
There is evidently some great distrust of mould deeply ingrained in my psyche.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Monday, 6 February 2012
You Realise, Of Course, This Means War...
Or, at the very least, it's a serious kick in my figurative behind be being so bloody lazy with my writing.
Over the weekend, I kept seeing this 'news summary' on whichever channel it was that had a news summary in every ad break. One of the stories was that Tulisa Contostavlos is publishing an autobiography "and there's more..." because she's apparently written two novels as well.
Now, I know no ill of Tulisa, nor does she strike me as illiterate, unlike certain other celebrity 'authors'... But I've got at least 1 book's worth of 'short' stories in note form, with potential for another two collections, then a trilogy knocking about in my head that features another trilogy of metafiction, plus a whole TV series worth of Torchwood reboot, and assorted other crap... and yet I'm nowhere near making anything publishable, while Tulisa will soon have three books actually on the shelves.
I should probably just disconnect my internet and phones and just force myself to do some bloody writing.
In other news, my bank contacted me today because of a dodgy looking payment request on my debit card. I didn't recognise it, so they've cancelled that card and I'm expecting a new one in a couple of days. Strangely, it wasn't a huge payment that aroused their suspicion - it was one of those $1 charges that are often just used to confirm that bank details are valid. Thing is, it was a $1 charge to some New York-based something or other... And that really is suspicious.
Over the weekend, I kept seeing this 'news summary' on whichever channel it was that had a news summary in every ad break. One of the stories was that Tulisa Contostavlos is publishing an autobiography "and there's more..." because she's apparently written two novels as well.
Now, I know no ill of Tulisa, nor does she strike me as illiterate, unlike certain other celebrity 'authors'... But I've got at least 1 book's worth of 'short' stories in note form, with potential for another two collections, then a trilogy knocking about in my head that features another trilogy of metafiction, plus a whole TV series worth of Torchwood reboot, and assorted other crap... and yet I'm nowhere near making anything publishable, while Tulisa will soon have three books actually on the shelves.
I should probably just disconnect my internet and phones and just force myself to do some bloody writing.
In other news, my bank contacted me today because of a dodgy looking payment request on my debit card. I didn't recognise it, so they've cancelled that card and I'm expecting a new one in a couple of days. Strangely, it wasn't a huge payment that aroused their suspicion - it was one of those $1 charges that are often just used to confirm that bank details are valid. Thing is, it was a $1 charge to some New York-based something or other... And that really is suspicious.
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Social Commentary
Many years ago, when I started visiting a local snooker club with a friend, we noticed that many of the shops in the little parade inhabited by the club had transformed into betting shops. This was around the time that people were becoming scandalised by the sheer number of closures of 'local bank branches'. There had been a bank in that parade when I was a nipper - possibly even two - but it had long since closed. One or two of the restaurants were still there, but the big shop - a carpet or flooring shop, I believe... maybe furniture - was not just deserted but desolate.
It struck me then that the appearance of betting shops in this local retail wasteland was 'a sign of the times'.
When I woke up this morning, I noticed one of the shopfronts over the road was being worked on. The property had been cleared out and the windows replaced months ago, and the outside had been given a lick of paint quite recently, but now there were two men fumbling about with the signage.
And, wouldn't you know it, it'll be the second new betting shop to open up in my particular stretch of road in the last 12 months. The funniest thing is that the space it will occupy was once a bank.
Is this the finest irony at work, or have we merely reached the point where people put more faith (and money) into gambling for themselves than they're willing to put into a bank?
It struck me then that the appearance of betting shops in this local retail wasteland was 'a sign of the times'.
When I woke up this morning, I noticed one of the shopfronts over the road was being worked on. The property had been cleared out and the windows replaced months ago, and the outside had been given a lick of paint quite recently, but now there were two men fumbling about with the signage.
And, wouldn't you know it, it'll be the second new betting shop to open up in my particular stretch of road in the last 12 months. The funniest thing is that the space it will occupy was once a bank.
Is this the finest irony at work, or have we merely reached the point where people put more faith (and money) into gambling for themselves than they're willing to put into a bank?
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