Week 87

There’s a famous guy – by which I mean he writes an email newsletter – who lives around here. He glins, you know? He doesn’t seem very mentally well, but I think even folks who sympathise with his terrible views would agree that he’s a prick.

The other day, I walked past him. I must have thought about him less than an hour ago, which would have been a spooky coincidence if he hadn’t lived rent-free in my head for a period during which I didn’t walk past him once. I extended a middle finger in a way he was unlikely to notice because my coat has long sleeves, but nevertheless must have sent a shiver down his spine and made him reconsider his position. I think he was walking a dog – it was post-sunset, and I didn’t give him a proper stare, so I might have imagined it – and, a bit further along the road, I almost trod in some dog shit – so I can’t rule out the possibility that the guy doesn’t pick up his dog’s turds, which is pretty bad if true, grounds for another cancellation. Perhaps he’s too busy glinning to mess about with plastic bags.

Black Books was an excellent sitcom, wasn’t it?

The SwitchBot Curtain I ordered some months ago arrived, taking me a bit by surprise. It’s a sort of robot that runs along your curtain rail to automatically open or close your curtains, which I just think is a neat idea. Alas, it struggles to close the horrible “grommet top” curtains here – there’s too much friction – and the curtain rod in my bedroom is not of a consistent girth, so it gets stuck. Clearly, the only solution is to move house. Meanwhile, at least it just about manages to open the curtain in the other room – not quite the waking me up with bright sunlight I’d envisaged, but then it’s quite gloomy out anyway.

Looking back at my camera roll to see if anything else happened this week. Cycled up a hill and looked at some fog. Bought some flour from a shed and made some very puffy bread.

Why not email in to let us know your least favourite type of jam. I think mine is chilli.