clog dance, pressure cooker, quagmire

I didn’t sleep very well last night. I think it was because I enjoyed the weekend so much, and I didn’t want it to end. I got a lot more writing done on Sunday, in spite of the fact I am still not smoking. I haven’t smoked now for about ten days, I think. In between writing, I messed up the Guardian Sudoku, but redeemed myself by managing to complete the Quick Crossword without having to appeal for help, although I did have to wing it a bit. I wonder if there is actually a ‘foot-stomping performance (4,5)’ called a ‘clog dance’, or I just made that up. On the subject of winging it, I am also now officially a master of X Files trivia (I preferred being called a savant), and have learned that the X Files character I am most like is Scully, and that if I were a member of the Syndicate, I would be Bill Mulder, who is dead, but never mind.

Another thing I did yesterday was randomly browse through other people’s blogs. I like looking at blogs of people I don’t know. The best one I saw yesterday appeared to be about buses. There were a lot of photos of buses, anyway. I couldn’t understand what the blog said, because it was written in a language I didn’t recognize. I doubt I will ever find this blog again. I stumbled across it by clicking Blogger’s ‘Next Blog’ button about a hundred times. I like that there are so many small, strange blogs on the internet. I like to think mine is smaller and stranger than most. I know of one person who found my blog by Googling ‘What kind of mole wears bright pink?’ I feel my job here is almost done.

Nothing important happened today. I dragged myself out of bed and went to work. I saw a dog that looked just like my dog but younger and with a white ‘W’ on his chest instead of a question mark. I carried a 5kg bag of cat food all the way home, breaking almost every rule of manual handling in the process. I read a bit of Yuriko Takeda’s Russia Diary on the train. I was planning to stop at the library as I was passing to look for a Martha Wainwright CD or two, but at the last minute I got it into my head I might have a dentist’s appointment today. I couldn’t decide whether this dentist’s appointment I might have was at four or four thirty. I was running late if it was at four, so I decided I’d better not stop at the library after all. I checked my appointment card when I got home and felt cheated, because it turns out I don’t have to go to the dentist for another three weeks.

I did three more hours of Japanese comprehension practise against the clock this evening. I made red bean chilli for tea. I hadn’t made red been chilli for ages, and spent a fun twenty minutes making pressure cooker noises while the kidney beans were cooking.

The dog and I went for a walk just before nine. The weather still can’t make up its mind. I wish it would stop raining so much. The Barley Mow is turning into a quagmire. My shoes are falling apart, and they were full of mud by the time we got home. The sky was spectacular, though. My neck hurts from looking up so much at the marshmallow clouds.

they sentenced me to twenty years of boredom

I have spent a satisfyingly boring day translating, reading the paper, loafing, eating far too many dates, and best of all not working or studying. Today was boring, but I wasn’t bored. Boredom isn’t always a bad thing. I’m not sure what they were doing upstairs earlier, but everything was vibrating. Apart from that it has been peaceful here, and I haven’t spoken a word to anyone, apart from the dog and the cat.

The Guardian was good today. There was a little book of Leonard Cohen lyrics, including one of the coolest songs of all time, First We Take Manhattan. There was also an article about Vilhelm Hammershøi in the review, including a big print of a painting I like, called Open Doors. I like this painting because it reminds me of a house my best friend used to rent in Cornwall, where we spent many a night together bending space and time, back when life was still interesting. The painting also reminds me of Twin Peaks. I might have to cut it out and stick it up on my wall.

I did the Sudoku, and also the whole of the Quick Crossword apart from one word: ‘Test metal for quality (5)’. The letters and spaces I have are A_S_E. If anyone can help, I would be most grateful.

I had a corn on the cob plus a jacket potato with falafel and hummus for tea tonight. Other than that, I don’t think anything exciting has happened. Oh, I have heard that someone found the copy of The Communist Manifesto I left on the train to work yesterday. They seem to have read it already and liked it better than I did.

The dog doesn’t want to go for a walk today. His legs are sore, I think. He has started chewing his right wrist again. He is upside down with his feet in the air at the moment, snoring his head off. The cat has finally left the building.

broken rail, robbie williams, killer sudoku

I dragged myself out of bed at 6.30 this morning, rolled down the hill to the station, and caught the train up to where my parents are living at the moment. My dad came back from Japan in one piece, sort of, a few weeks ago, and is going back there in a few months to move into his new flat. I’m not sure what my mum is going to do. I’m not sure she does, either. I worry sometimes that neither of my parents seem to know what they are doing. Sometimes they seem incredibly young to me, which makes me feel incredibly old. It isn’t a good thing to feel older than your parents. It seems wrong, like peas are wrong, especially mushy ones.

So I was sitting on the train reading Junnosuke Yoshiyuki, when I noticed there was a lot of muttering going on around me, and the train wasn’t moving. The train was standing still at a station called Gobowen (pronounced Gobb-o-wen), and seemingly had been for some time. After a while the conductor made an announcement that there was a broken rail between Gobowen and Chirk (pronounced Ch-urk, sounds like a quiet fart), and the train wouldn’t be going any further. The conductor sounded depressed, or possibly just bored. There was an uproar in the carriage then, but I remained sitting in my seat, reading Yoshiyuki. Eventually, the conductor said a bus would be along in about half an hour to take us the rest of the way, so I got off the train, read the rest of my book, and started the next one (more short stories, by Shōtarō Yasuoka, who was a friend of Yoshiyuki’s), sitting on a cold, windy brick wall, surrounded by people complaining in Welsh accents. I looked around me now and then and I can report that not much happens in Gobowen, apart from people walking their dogs, which are mostly collies.

The bus came just over an hour later, and I got off at the station after Chirk. During the half hour walk to my parents’ house, I remembered I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since last night, and for the first time since November I didn’t feel the need for one — finally, I was back in the non-smoking zone. I walked past several shops that sold cigarettes without hesitating, feeling almost euphoric. But after I’d been inside my parents’ house for all of five minutes, I went back out to a shop to buy some Embassies, a lighter and The Guardian.

I hadn’t bought The Guardian for months. I liked this week’s Writer’s Room (I forget whose it was now), and also an article in the magazine about how Robbie Williams has grown a beard and started going to UFO conventions. I have torn out that article for my best friend. Neither of us like Robbie Williams, but we both like UFOs and other people who like UFOs, which might mean we will have to like Robbie Williams now, which is okay with me as long as he doesn’t sing. I’m not sure how my best friend will feel about it. Apart from that, in between talking to my parents one at a time, eating fish and chips, and going outside to smoke, I did the Classic Sudoku (Hard), the Killer Sudoku (Hard), and the Futoshiki (Moderate). I have never managed to do a Killer Sudoku before, so I was quite pleased with myself, and still am. I tore the Sudoku page out, too, to show my brother, knowing he wouldn’t believe me otherwise.

I left my parents’ house after seven. My dad had gone to bed by then, and my mum was listening to an audio book on her Walkman. It was still cold and windy outside, and slightly rainy. There were no broken rails on the way home, but the train was packed with kids smoking spliffs and not wearing enough clothes, and once again I found myself feeling incredibly old. The conductor this time was cheerful, almost hysterically so. I read my book and ignored the kids who were heckling me pretend-Chinese.

My brother picked me up from the station. I showed him the Killer Sudoku I did, and gave him the rest of my Embassies, but only after smoking one last one with him, plus one of his Marlboro Reds. My brother said he would have believed me about the Killer Sudoku even if I hadn’t torn the page out, but I don’t believe him, because his eyebrows were raised almost up to his hairline when he said it.