Very enthusiastically, I started this post like every other post - with a title that will not at all be related to the contents of my writing - and then was stuck. Rather than bullshitting as I usually do, I meant to think about something very serious to write here, because, dear non-existent reader, it is about bloody time to get serious. The leaves are falling, the neighbours are refurbishing their house, the chavs are wearing hoodies, and the East is filled with the smells of the cold. A time to be serious.
App on water. Since I have no AppPhone, I am left ignorant as to the nature of the App, but as far as I can tell, it must be the key to the Promised Land. The Promising Land at the very least. |
But frankly, what to be serious about? The absolutely awful play I went to see yesterday? The fact that I'd rather spend my time on a building site? The app on my water bottle? That apple-cinnamon-cardamom-traybake I made a couple of weeks ago? The choice of potentially serious matter is overwhelmingly big. Gargantuan - to hit you with a good old French adjective for pretentious people. And in my experience form previous serious episodes, hardly ever worth the while. Dwelling in the Peter Pan twilight of 'not-wanting-to-grow-up', I face the fact that I have indeed grown up to be rather tall, and that, as much as I'd love to, I cannot hide behind other people. (please insert here online abbreviation to express dislike)
Traybake. Pre-bake. |
Facing perfectly autumnal sunny, but freezing weather, I wonder, loony without shroud, if I can get away with it for another couple of years. Get away with the worry about my hair, when really, I should be worrying about the impending melting of the baby seals, or the state the ozone zone. These issues exist, whether I like it or not, and I alone cannot help them. However, I can make a fair deal of a difference to my hair; it's a direct reaction to a prevalent problem at 8am in East London, whereas anything else would be a second- or third-hand reaction to an long-lasting problem somewhere completely different, and far away from East London that cannot be solved by Battiste dry shampoo, and might in fact have been caused by the overuse of Battiste dry shampoo in the late 70s and early 80s. I am starting to get the hang of Proustian sentences. Woop.
In order to have some content relevant to the title, I must say that finally, I also have got the hang of not-mixing-drinks. It was about time. After an incredible amount of G&Ts in late September, and only G&T, I have discovered the joy of being completely off my face, without the terrible hangover of the mixed drinks. Granted there was a bit of an aftermath, seeing that I definitely had more than 8 (which is where my brain was left physically incapable of counting), on hardly any sleep, but I was able to take a shower, put on my face and be presentable in no time on a Saturday morning roughly two weeks ago. I think another woop is in order! Like the path to the Promised Land, I am on to a winner here. Knowing that I respond rather well to Gin in general, and that apparently I smell like Gin too, I shall leave my sausagey fingers from dry white wine in the future, and dedicate my drinking to G&T. In other news, I just hovered my shoes - because they are muddy/dusty from working on a building site. Technically, it is not a building site in the classical sense, it's a set-deconstruction site, but looks strikingly similar to a building site, and works very similarly: lots of strong, capable people, and me in the middle. Clumsy, loud and a bit useless, but totally satisfied, because somebody gave me a drill the other day. Aaaannnnd I carried wood, which is the sole most satisfying thing I have done in the past year, which includes my degree. Who would have known. I should have enlisted in a carpenter's course or something, where I could get dirty (not in the Christina Aguilera sense), and where I could work on years of stored aggressions without doing much harm to anybody. Three arts degrees and I find paradise on a building site. October, the month of discoveries.