another day

It’s hard to think at all, let alone straight, when the weather is so wonderful and the neighbours wake you up at 5am shouting drunkenly in the street at their poor dogs. It wasn’t the guy with the spider webs tattooed all over his cheeks but it looked a little like him from my balcony. And the dog would not hurry up.

Unemployment, not driving me to derivative body art, is definitely my metier. A moment of near boredom ten days ago did ripple slightly the surface of my halcyon days, but they are otherwise completely taken up with luxury activities like taking the recycling down to the bins before the neighbours complain, sorting out the sad forgotten crannies in my house, cleaning the kitchen, actually being around to talk to my kids sometimes, important lunches — when you’re unemployed anybody could be a useful contact — and listening to good old Roxy Music and Johnny Cash. They're a great summer combo and to be recommended.

I thought I might write a lot during this time but like fun. I’m operating on a totally different level. More intuitive, instinctive, you know —