Week 87
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Thereās a famous guy ā by which I mean he writes an email newsletter ā who lives around here. He glins, you know? He doesnāt seem very mentally well, but I think even folks who sympathise with his terrible views would agree that heās 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 hadnāt lived rent-free in my head for a period during which I didnāt 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 ā it was post-sunset, and I didnāt give him a proper stare, so I might have imagined it ā and, a bit further along the road, I almost trod in some dog shit ā so I canāt rule out the possibility that the guy doesnāt pick up his dogās turds, which is pretty bad if true, grounds for another cancellation. Perhaps heās too busy glinning to mess about with plastic bags.
Black Books was an excellent sitcom, wasnāt it?
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The SwitchBot Curtain I ordered some months ago arrived, taking me a bit by surprise. Itās 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 āgrommet topā curtains here ā thereās too much friction ā 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 ā not quite the waking me up with bright sunlight Iād envisaged, but then itās quite gloomy out anyway.
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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.
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Why not email in to let us know your least favourite type of jam. I think mine is chilli.