Bank Holiday Monday

Today it rained and I stared at the wall all day.

Plumbers and Typography

You wouldn't call a typographer to fix a leak. It is with some concern then, that I have to report there are some plumbers out there who consider themselves far more adept at visual communication than those of us who have studied the subject at length. It bothers me this, because I'd never consider hiring a plumber and then tell him he couldn't use a plier-wrench because I don't like plier-wrenches. Neither would I insist that he tried unblocking my sink several times until I could decide on the method I liked best. Neither would I supply him with a problem and then, when he was on his way to solving it, fuck it all up and make him start again. Perhaps I am in the wrong job?

Art in Bedford

This week has been a right laugh. Firstly, at around 11'o clock on Monday morning, I self-harmed in front of the terrible new monument at the apex of Silver Street in an attempt to be taken more seriously. No one took any notice, so I went and kicked myself, really hard, at the bronze-painted fiberglass thing which has been left outside Macdonald's for some weeks. No response. It seems no one is interested in art at this latitude.

Jesus

Fucking hell, it's Easter yet again.

That concludes this entry.

A Poem.

Sunday May 25th, 2003

Awoke for the lavatory around half past 5 (am). Bright sun on the opposite house initiated a mounting excitement.
Awoke for the lavatory again around 7 (am). Sky gone dull.
Awoke again and considered not looking at the time in detail. It was 8 (am). Made a cup of coffee and sat in bed until 9.20 (am) listening to Radio 4.
Got up. Noticed sore throat.
Buggered around until midday at when I was sufficiently hungry, to the extent, that I had 2 eggs on a fried bread mattress.
After that, life seemed better.
Momentarily, after that moment, life seemed hard. Staying awake was hard.
Fell asleep on the settee, wondering about cloud formations.
Awoke an hour later (pm) with worsening pharyngitis.
Retired to bed and slept a slow sleep, akin maybe, to a Morris Minor on a B road. Respirations laboured – thoughts laboured – an effortless waste of an afternoon.
Awoke to micturate on occasions.
Arose at 6 (pm) feeling slightly funny. Did some drawing, drank a little wine and cooked a full English panorama. And then…
Nothing.

Money

Hello children. Today we are going to talk about the so-called Credit Crunch. I recently tried to change my credit card in order to transfer the balance of an existing one, pay less interest and be less in debt. Barclays, however, informed me that I didn't earn enough so I couldn't take advantage of their marvelous product.

If I 'earned enough' then I wouldn't, in all probability, be trying to be less-in-debt because I wouldn't be in sodding debt in the first place. Furthermore, the incompetence of my employer hasn't helped as they've been paying me (or not) in an eccentric manner since October last year resulting in a cumulative shortfall of house-keeping. Consequently I have had to spend my tax money on food and so now I am wondering when it is that I will go to prison.

Apart from that the Credit Crunch hasn't affected me at all. Idiots affect me all the time though.

Now, here's Andy Williams with Moon River…

Milk Science

I think that my fridge is up the duff (broken, not pregnant) because for some time now the milk goes off long before it's supposed to. Apart from the annoyance of making tea look and taste like sick it presents a problem of disposal. You see I don't like to throw it down the sink because of the odour so I leave it in a warm spot until it separates and the bottle threatens to explode and then have to face up to the fact that, despite the spectacle, the problem hasn't gone away. I have, in the past, quietly dropped it in the dustbin but I am now caught up in the novelty of recycling so this feels too much like cheating.

This morning I decided to face the problem and sought a scientific method of neutralising milk into a non-smelly, easily disposable liquid which would not foul up my plughole. I suppose the most obvious solution would have been household bleach but this household ran out of that before Christmas. So I decided to experiment with bicarb and vinegar and spent half an hour watching the chemical reaction in the washing up bowl with fascination. It was so wonderful that this must be confirmation that God definitely does not exist. Curiously though, it did not neutralise the smell but changed it from stale milk into raw meat. Sometimes being alive is fantastic!