A funny old week in the realm of self-actualisation. I think I’ve undergone a vibe shift? But the thoughts here are just some (as per usual) bobbins accumulated over that period.
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Tuesday: pancakes, made in the tradition of our ancestors. The only flour I had in was self-raising, so that’s what I used – not entirely as a sop to the original idea of using up the decadent ingredients before fasting like Jesus, and not because I was too lazy to go to a shop, but just because the American/Scotch style of pancake would be a novelty. And it was OK. (I remember Trevor from off of EastEnders made some fluffy pancakes on Celebrity MasterChef once, what a thing to remember.)
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Went and saw The Duke, the film in which Jim Broadbent is married to Helen Mirren and he steals a painting from an art gallery, which has something to do with bringing about free TV licenses for the over-75s. I could have been a trifle perturbed by the capitulation-to-austerity of the idea that there’s a binary choice between funding paintings and funding free TV licenses – read some modern monetary theory, mate! – but then I thought don’t be an ass, just enjoy the warmth of the quite charming film.
(Oscar Deutsch’s nation-entertainers had evidently now fixed the heating after earlier problems, and turned it up real high, and actually, obviously, having to take off several clothes during the trailers, and put them back on during the credits, is actually no problem.)
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Down by the river, an unusual lady drew my attention to the plight of a pigeon in the water, who, perhaps having read one of all the articles in the Guardian about wild swimming, had decided to have a splish splash about. But you see, pigeons can’t swim, even in Norfolk they don’t have webbed feet, they can only float for a while. It’s comforting to imagine maybe someone did come along with a net on a stick in time to save the winged rat from sinking, and that they’re now being celebrated as a hero, but I didn’t feel ready to be that person.
“Sorry, I had to rescue a pigeon” is, it occurs to me, a good kind of crazy idea for an excuse for being late, if anyone needs it. It’s no use to me now.
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Broke out the Allen key to tighten some screws to stop the bed creaking, and in the same week noticed a broken spoke of a bicycle wheel – which I was going to weave together into a thread –
(in b4 all the heckles of the so-called experts going, oh, you can’t weave _ into a thread, any more than _ can build to a crescendo. I know threads are actually what you weave with, just as “a crescendo” describes the build-ing)
– around the theme of “tension” (both that kind and the less tangible kind), or some shit, but no that’s just rubbish.
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Turned the mattress. The stages of knowledge of mattress-turning are thus:
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Nothing
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Hearing it’s a good idea to turn a mattress once in a while
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Flipping the mattress upside down
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Learning that no, that’s wrong, the topside and underside are materially different, you turn it the other way, that way no end of the mattress gets more familiar with heads/feet than the other.
Naturally, I’ve been at the fourth, most enlightened stage for a while.
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Apropos of nothing: I reckon still (maybe) {Bitcoin, the blockchain} is the worst (for some definition of worst) invention of the 21st century. I think so, right? Try to change my mind. I almost tweeted that out, but nah, nor would I express unenjoyment of the work of BTS or provocatively call Eli Tusk a ninny.
(It’s no surprise at all that, it turns out, some have already said “cryptocurrency one of the worst inventions of the 21st century”. I welcome their saying that, but I would encourage them to go further.)