Curiosity killed the cat…

It turns out I simply cannot be trusted to stick to a daily schedule. Shameful, really. I can manage it with brushing my teeth, even washing most days, but putting something coherent down on a daily basis completely eludes me.

Let’s try weekly, then. I can surely manage that!


I’ve been thinking about journalism for years. If I’d thought about it while I was deciding what to study at eighteen (hah, what a bloody stupid age to decide things like that!) I probably would have gone for it, I think. It’s hard to say from this perspective. It’s all well and good, looking back ten years and saying ‘oh yes, surely I would have done X, if only I had known,’ but that neatly elides the intervening ten years worth of experience which leads you to believe that a completely different career path would be good for you.

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Arrival of the Harvestmen

This is something I’m going to start doing, mostly because I fancy it, but if anyone asks, it’s to build discipline.

Summer sunshine, (or indeed, any sunshine), the warmth, and the gentle balmy breezes are to be treasured, like gold or rare memories. Most of the time. When it comes to getting solid sleep, warm air and humidity are like little goblins who poke you awake every few minutes. I don’t think I’ve slept a solid night through in weeks. Damn Hotair. Damn Humidity. Warty little, sweaty little, greasy little goblin fuckers, jabbing me while I sleep. Last night was no exception.

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The Thunder Storm

There was a storm forecast for just after midnight, so I went to close the windows in my living room.

In the dark I could see the storm coming. The clouds were lit up from inside, silently flashing in the dark, humid night, marbled deep blue and purple and grey. The water of the wharf outside was flat as glass, with the occasional pin prick of rain. Save for the rolling clouds driving up from the south west and the ominous silent flashes of lightning hidden in the clouds, the night was utterly still.

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