Day 138 - Reader, Changemaker, Twat

Yesterday, there were things I forgot to mention, in my Sandison-haze. Here are some of them.


Thank you for unexpected, welcome work and, yesterday and today, for a new company to do language-based acting and facilitation work with. I'm grateful for all of that. Thank you, Justin McCarron. You absolute star. I need to get my weaving back up to scratch. I've been too busy trying to crawl out from my own navel. Get that weaving started. Do it.


I'm grateful for my book. The Reader/Der Vorleser. Two birds etc. Get my German juicier and read a really good novel at the same time. It's a long time since I've been engrossed in a book in this way and it's such a pleasure. Bernard Schink writes in a very straightforward way, which makes the narrative voice enormously pleasing and very precise. It's not in the least bit fluffy. Which is good, given the subject matter. I'll see the film soon. Once it's done. 


Thank you, amazon, for delivering a book which I think I'm going to have to return. The language in it is SO ANNOYING! I should have known - it has the word 'changemaker' on the front, which I think is a truly toss word and to me, calling yourself a changemaker is like saying 'I'm a bit of a nob'. And it's a book where people 'have discussions around' things instead of talking about them. And it's enormously earnest and corporate, and terribly prescriptive, while being about creativity. I find it soul-numbing. Good to check it out though. I had high hopes for it. It's been in my 'saved for later' basket on amazon so long it had grown a beard.

And thanks, Our Face, for your wise and articulate words, your quick text responses and your general cleverness.


A very late, but very beautiful swim today. Stunning. The sun was high and although there was very little greenage on the banks, it felt like summer. I was late so I whipped everything off outside, got changed and trundled in. Not warm, of course, but really not that cold. And so, so beautiful. Dangling, naked willow branches, picked out deep yellow-orange. The reeds, dull beige in normal light, seemed to shimmer. Blue skies, a ghost half moon up above the 'three' trees. The pond seemed its normal size again, though the barrier hadn't moved. The lifeguards were sitting on the deck on their scruffy office chairs, drinking tea and hanging out. 


Then a short ride and a walk on the Heath. I sat in the sun, reading, writing. I must have been there an hour or two and only at the end, as the sun went down, did I feel the cold. Back to pick up my bike. I was passing the back of the pond, heading over to watch the sun go down from Parliament Hill when I stumbled across Pond Claire and her Viszla friend. She was going for a cup of tea and she let me come and join her. The dog was cute, outrageously lean and a little bit jumpy. Not interested in me at all. Nice just to have one around, though. He was very oily. I didn't know Viszlas were oily like Dobermans. I wonder if it's just a boy thing, or if the girls have the same oil. I must find out. She borrows him (his name is Redwood). There's a very posh house nearby and she got to know them, and him, while working at the pond. She asked if she could walk him and now she has a proper relationship with them and with the dog. Just what I'd like. She has a dog, but she doesn't have a dog. She has most of the benefits and few of the drawbacks. Very wise. I'd like to do that. 


Claire and I had an interesting chat. Looking over the pond as the sun went down. A goose had settled itself on the life-ring nest. I'm sure it's not an appropriate nest for such a massive thing, but there it was. I wondered if it was the same goose I'd seen do an incredible evasive manouevre mid-flight. 

There was a lot of goose shouting today. The boys are horny, especially one particularly gobby teenager (I have no idea if he really was teenage, or even male, but I'd put money on both - gangly and shouty and all elbows, trying to win over his mate - any mate - but going about it with such clums that he was pissing everyone off). He was shouting a lot and insinuating himself at this female (or so it seemed). Eventually, both hollering, they took off, but just over the edge of the pond, she did a 180 degree turn and plopped back into our pond, really close (and just above a lady's head in the water - almost seemed to skim her). Shouting boy could be heard complaining from the next pond. Good move, sister.


I saw London from Parliament Hill after all. The sun had gone down but there was a lot of light still about and a very bright moon. It was less shimmery than when it's properly dark, and kind of fuzzy-edged. Then I cycled through Gospel Oak, up and over the back of Dartmouth Park Hill and round past the Whittington Hospital. The gears slipped and I bashed my knee, but luckily I didn't come off and the car behind me didn't hit me or even beep me. I am grateful for a free dinner when I got back to the house. I had bought sausages (which needed cooking today) but Joan offered me leftover stew. I swear it was chicken. She says it was Quorn. If she's right, Quorn has come a long way. 


CJS's blog is still a treasure. Check it out (and dip in a few days - there are some classics): http://reasonstokeeponbreathing.blogspot.com/ Go on, treat yourself.

And thank you for my Judy comic, Victoria Sandison. I'm now reading the tale of Door-mat Dora. Everybody's reading it, according to the ad on the back. Check out the name orgy that makes up this magazine's history, according to Wikipedia: Judy was a weekly girls' comic published from 1960 to 1991 by DC Thomson. It was billed as a companion title to Bunty, which was launched two years beforehand.^[1]Emma merged into it in 1979, with Tracy following in 1985. Judy itself merged into Mandy in 199. As far as name preferences go... Judy's my name and I love it, but Bunty's a classic! 




They say 'shall' a lot. If there's one specific thing to be thankful for today, I choose that.