11th august 10am - goood moornink!

sweet child in time

I could be ticking away the moments that make up a dull day cos that's what it is; dreary and dull. but I'm making myself busy, constructing plans for what will be a day of great activity. the sky is an unbroken damp blanket of dirty white without so much as the suggestion of a drop of fresh mountain rain to break the stillness in the air. a strong black coffee and a fag restores a natural balance and a tentative anticipation of potential positivity creeps grudgingly up my neck and attempts to spark the synapses. this is immediately dulled once more by the realisation that it's turnaround day for the farmhouse and there is much tedious housework to contend with to make it welcoming for the imminent new arrivals. even the dogs are disinterested in their breakfast and wander aimlessly about the house seemingly looking for inspiration. chaffinches and tits picking fervently at their morning feed seem unaffected by the lack of weather which suggests to me that there is a line above which living things can be termed as sentient. perhaps this is where spirituality begins. but I know this is not so; telulah, our great friend tish's aged songbird is indeed a spiritual being and has love in her heart as I do for her.

I've managed to shed another couple of pounds by virtue of having had nothing to eat but two pieces of fruit and half a bag of haribo fangtastics the day before. perhaps now I'll be able to fit into all my strides without that silly looking bicycle tyre hanging over the waistline like a boiled over saucepan of thick porridge. should I grow up and bow to the inevitable and accept the pitfalls of middle-age? abso-bloody-lutely not.

tom arrives with the post and, oh joy, he bears a box which can only be the camera I ordered from amazon. I grudgingly put it aside, unopened, for the time being, not wanting to admit to heather, who'll be arriving shortly, what might be considered as the somewhat unnecessary expenditure on this extravagant piece of kit. well, why the bloody hell not, I mutter subliminally to myself, I need a camera and a good one. you can't take real pictures with a 2 megapixel consumer jobbie and I'm an artist, me.

right, I'm off to do a quick tidy-up before they get here. there is no way I'm going to let her think that I can't look after the place on my own. it seems that there is still a goodly portion of marital paranoia yet to be shed . . .