FRONTAL-LOBE RANTING

Ukraine 

What brave people. What a great, principled president. 

And to those who have been apologists for enablers of Putin, I hope you feel ashamed. You are crypto fascists at best. 

'Useful Idiots' as Lenin used to call them.

These people are usually on the fringes of politics. On the right, Trump, Farage and Bannon who blame the European Union for antagonising poor Mr Putin, and on the left Diane Abbot, Jeremy Corbyn and Richard Burgon, who blame NATO for doing the same thing.

Liberty. And fuck Putin.

'Oh, he's no worse than our leaders.' I used to hear down the pub.

Well, he does happen to have his dissenters murdered. I'd say that was different for a start.

They don't call him the Demagogue of Democracy for nothing yet I've had Facebook 'friends' who thought he was great.

I de-friended them. Can't be bothered with people like that in my life.

More important is to NOT forget the people who are under his cosh at the moment. Celebrate their bravery and refusal to bow down to his murderous whim. Ordinary people attacked by military-might commanded by an international pariah for reasons of spurious imperial drivel.

Let's do all we can to help the Ukrainians.

Baron Harkonnen

The other day I went to see a George Duke tribute band. They were magnificent, playing Fusion which is one of my favourite forms of music. The keyboardist was really funny - like a little kid. He kept putting both thumbs up after we applauded - so un-rock and roll! What a player too - the feeling he had for his music was incredible.

The quiet parts of the music are not a green-light for drunk people to chat loudly. But that didn't stop the people in the front row.

Annoying person at George Duke tribute concert

I think you can tell this really annoys me - as much as people talking or on their phones at the cinema or people putting their feet up on a train seat. It's so inconsiderate. If you want to goof about loudly go back into the pub; don't spoil the concert for others.

An ex-girlfriend is a huge Stevie Wonder fan. She went to see him in Hyde Park and there were people talking all the way through it. She was incredulous. A living legend is playing live in front of you and you're talking about crap with your mates.

Anyway, the person who really annoyed me was sat in front, looked like the guy in the photo in a wig, ate with her mouth open and couldn't say please or thank you to the staff. 

Entitled witch.

Work sucks

I've got my 2 last jobs starting this Friday. I'm replacing some setbacks on some buttresses on a Church in Barnes - St Michael and All Angels.

Setbacks on a buttress

Set backs are the stones with angled, sloping fronts which allow water to cascade off. Quite a straightforward job and I'm doing it with my old mucker Fyfe, who will be leading the charge.

I won't be sorry to be leaving the profession. Most good tradesmen will tell you that the majority of contractors don't care at all about quality, and the standard of tradesmen these days is patchy. The reason people leave is because of the lack of quality control and the lack of appreciation for their efforts. 

About 3 years ago I worked on a project for a prestigious cemetery in London. The job was split between our contractor (I was subbing for them) and another contractor who had never done a job like this. The architect had never worked on a restoration project either. He was absolutely clueless, and had to be guided by experienced people in my contractors company in order to get through the process.

The other contractor had clearly never handled stone before (they couldn't believe the weight), used a cementitious repair mix on the stone which bled white everywhere and at the end got someone to hand-paint the grey cementitious mortar white to make it look like lime.

Both the architect and the other contractor won awards for their work. 

And that is why people leave.

Mandelbrot Cat Syndrome

Mrs Malaprop, I presume?

Over breakfast, Jacqui said she wasn't sure whether Stanley had pooped or not when she took the dogs out. (Stanley is a dog by the way, not an elderly relative.) It made me think of the cat metaphor, where there is a cat in the box who may be dead but also alive and the 2 can be simultaneous in the quantum world, but what is the threshold where the quantum world is superseded by reality and once you open the box you have either a live or dead cat?

What's it called? I'm trying to think of it, and all I can think of is *MANDELBROT CAT SYNDROME. And I know it's wrong but I can't think of the real name for it.

Come on come on....type in 'cat physics'. Of course it's Schrödinger's Cat.

Reminded me of that scene in The Office where they're doing a pub quiz and the question is 'Who has been president of Cuba since 1959?', and David Brent said Fray Bentos, which has proven to be a massive spanner in the works. No one can think of the answer and people are super annoyed at Brent.

Leader of Cuba 1959-2008

It's true though - the actual answer is much more evasive after a daft but similar-sounding answer is given in its place. 

I'm going start assembling the daft things I say from now on. 'Dimensions' keeps substituting itself for 'dementia'. I'll try and keep a log of these. Another word is 'Initiative', which in RPGs comes up all the time, and I keep forgetting it and all that comes out is 'er, er, er, er, er, um.' I end up having to look at the character sheets as I know where to look for the word.

*DISCLAIMER: not strictly a Malapropism, but almost.

It's Christmas!!!!

Tomorrow I'm going to see my Mum and Dad and my sister and nephew. I haven't seen them for months. Christmas was a disaster for us because -  like many families - one of us got Omicron and it scuppered visiting. That person was yours truly.

Nephew (not sure I'm allowed to say his name online) is a top gamer so I thought I'd take some stuff down with me. He's a great lad and I really enjoy spending time with him. He knows his uncle has this neurological condition and he was really sad when he found out, and that made me sad.

Anyway, I suddenly felt Christmassy at the prospect. I imagined Christmas trees and baubles and presents opened with wrapping everywhere and smiles and laughter. 

That made me feel a lot warmer inside. 

When emoting goes wrong

Many say "Oh I do that!" and words to the effect of  "Join the club!" when I tell them I can't remember words or can't start a job, or get increasingly flustered at starting a seemingly mundane task.

The thing is yes, we all have our foibles that get worse with age - forgetfulness and so forth, and with some of us we go through our lives with that particular bar set quite low - common examples would be poor spelling and absent-mindedness. 

People say I started off quite high in many regards, but I know certain aspects were always low. For example:

1. my propensity to procrastinate for things I wasn't interested in (covers 90% of everything)
2. low- attention span
3. total failure to really embrace modern capitalism
4. intolerance for entitlement (the irony of living in SW London!)
5. intolerance for teenagers
6. intolerance for...(I could go on ad infinitum but will stop here)
7. occasional social faux pas - although I'm keeping the Dalai Lama's advice to say nothing unless it's better than silence (when I remember to...)

These have all gotten (even) worse in the past few years, apart from #3 which has always been a flat-liner.

People say "well, I was always a poor speller" or "I'm forgetful too". 

But when you could previously do things to a certain level and you see those abilities diminish, it's not really much comfort when someone says they were never very good at them either. It's done with good intent, to quell the significance of the problem. 

'It's just a thing.' 

'It's not the end of the world.' 

'I get on okay without it.'

But it is significant to you because it's part of who you are or who you were. And now it's going or gone.

Something you used to find easy or automatic is no longer the case and that can be very frustrating.

So next time someone in a chronic condition says they're having difficulty with something, think before you say something well-meaning as what they hear might be something different to what was intended. 

And this is intended for me more than anyone. I am the biggest hypocrite in this regard as I often say clumsy things to people I would never like to be the recipient of.

And finally...

I didn't want to leave on a sanctimonious note, so changing the subject...

...I hate this time of year as gloomy old Winter stubbornly drags its heels, refusing to hand over to Spring.

By February/ March we've all had enough of the gloomy, short, cold days and are eager for signs of Spring. The days are getting longer now, and the trees will soon be in bud, but like anything you're desperately waiting for it, takes twice as long to arrive...! So it was great to see all the daffodils are out everywhere, bringing colour and joy to our lives. 

Come on Spring, do your thing!

Hope

You won't want to read this

Bob Geldof

There are days I wake up and I think, this is going to be a sunshine day - and then there are days when I wake having dreamt I live in a dreary flat with flatmates I don't know and we pass each other without any interaction, any warmth or connection. Many of my dreams are a version of this scenario. Today I woke up feeling pretty lousy. Hey, It's a Monday after all, and I hate Mondays. But this is different.

Unconscious bias

The recurring themes of these dreams are isolation, detachment, withdrawal, loneliness. It's not the best way to start the day.

But this is the reality of FTD, and maybe other dimensions... I mean dementias. (Keep doing that!)

It's a detachment from those we love, our fondest friends, our nearest and dearest. The invisible chords that bind us just dissipating every few weeks incrementally but significantly enough to notice. This is the worst part of dementia: the fact that we become isolated. Somedays you feel it more than others. 

Mondays are especially bad for it.

Procrastination

So after the storm I'm looking at the garden. The derelict shed we have. The thick polythene I stuck to the roof to keep it going was finally torn off. Now the shed is in all its glory - the rotten boards, the broken window, the torn roofing felt. And the tree. The tree that fell down 3 days ago. 

I just stop myself looking at it as it's depressing, so I come back in here to watch TV. Later I join Jacqui who's having an early lunch and apologise for doing nothing about the shed. She's fine with me being useless, which whilst being a let off, makes me feel worse in a way: the fact that I'm not much use anymore being verified by my wife, who is resigned to it all.

Harmless, really

I thought I would write and prepare more of the campaign for the Monday evening crew (The D&Gers), but it didn't work out that way,. Headache and some knotted muscle under my shoulder blade adding to the feeling of general crapness. 

We did walk the dogs this morning which is always good. It's a nice start to the day and gets the oxygen flowing. It was still really windy, which both the dogs and me really enjoy.

But while I changed a couple of things and did 10 minutes of work admin I'd avoided for the last week, I then watched Louis Theroux docs and a documentary film on WeWork, which was a cultish office rental business for millennials. It's fascinated me for a while, but the documentary was a bit supine really. I was expecting it to be more like the Fyre Festival film.

So I've just been trying to keep out the world's way for a bit. I shall attempt to rejoin as soon as practicable...

Sorry to bore you but...

Executive (Mal)Function

Oh dear me. 

This is one of those posts where I start writing not really knowing where I want to go. What did I do today? Well, I walked the dogs with J first thing, then I looked for my keys for over an hour, trying (successfully) not to get angry with myself. I found them in the box containing my toiletries. J's bought me a locator thing so I can trace them if...no WHEN it next happens. I know we all do it now and again but it happens with increasing regularity. It seems there are fewer compartments in my brain with which to multi-task. 

So after I did that I watched the latest Louis Theroux episode about hard right trolls in America, and then some of his other stuff, like the ones about Westboro Baptist Church. I am rather fascinated about cults and the psychology of how they recruit and keep their members.

Alt-right internet nasty person

I'm watching TV as it's safe. Safer than doing anything right now as I don't trust myself. 

As regards my view on Mr Theroux's latest programme, it's amazing how thin skinned and pathetic the subject matter are when confronted face-to-face. And none of them can produce facts to back up their assertions. Their whole shtick ranges from demagoguery to vile and pathetic threats and rants. They are a sad bunch of bitter people who would benefit from therapy. 

What a shame the internet enables their connection with other similar people.

Google Indexed me!!

I am now not only online but I can be searched on Google. These are 2 seperate things. If like me you are starting a blog, you fill out the form with your details, write your post, and you can send a link to people who can also see your blog on the internet. Brilliant.

However, being on the internet doesn't mean Google's search engine looks for you. It doesn't register your existence so it can't find you. Only by 'indexing' you - something you can speed up by requesting it - can you be searched for.

This was news to me.

Luckily a person I live with who can't be named for legal reasons, set this up for me as despite me complaining about them in previous posts, they are essentially a very nice person with a great brain. 

Thank you anonymous person.

Writers' Block

I've been writing a new part of my long-term Dungeons and Dragons adventure (known as a 'campaign') linking disparate modules (single adventures ) and trying to get a hook or hooks to stick them all together. I've got the overarching narrative for the next few sessions and it's all coming together in my mind. With every day the vision becomes clearer and clearer.

However, writing it is easier said than done. I look at my notes and just can't start to write it. I don't know why.

I'm also dribbling out of the side of right side of my mouth a bit more - a higher yield of saliva. 'Gusting!

It may be because I only slept about 6 hours last night. It may not be. I am tired though.

I notice these incremental changes and it’s a bit depressing to be honest. How could it not be?

Enough already.

Demons

Middle-Classed Builders

Compared to the average TV production person, in practical terms I was MacGyver. However, on a building site with all those beastly rough working-class types, I was another middle-class herbert. I had to learn how to do the practical stuff. It took me a long time as I had put off doing it for years. It didn't come as naturally to me as it did to my friend Will or other people I know. I'd also created a 'thing' about fixing stones  - that I was the artisan banker mason, diligently applying templates and working the stone to spec with mallet and chisel. It was someone else's job to fit it all together on site, using grinders and lime mortar and stainless steel fixings. It's not what I did.

By the end of my career I was more than happy to do either, but it's funny that I'd created a bugbear by some irrational avoidance behaviour. Why do we do this?

Wrestling with the past

Some people call it the Chimp brain - the antediluvian part of the brain that tells us we're not good enough. Thankfully my Chimp brain has been kept silent by a very ancient and important piece of wisdom I keep on my desk. 

Important piece of ancient wisdom

But the last few days have been tough. My brain makes constant connections to things from my past. If something doesn't go the way I'd like it to, or it can even be caused seemingly from nothing, my brain goes into overdrive. Connections are made and quickly cascade  - one bad experience when I wasn't good enough in my distant past to another. Once it starts it's very difficult to stop. Suddenly I'm back in 1987 or 1998 or 2006 in a classroom, office, bar, street, wherever. I feel all the emotion as though it's actually happening in this instant. I thought I had it under control but it's come to the surface again. 

It's easy to see these things, whether they're addictions or depressive states, as entities. We give them names. Churchill had his Black Dog of depression. Other people have their demons. This is mine. 

I only ever remind myself of the past where I wasn't good enough or my behaviour let me down. I don't have a great opinion of myself. It's a shame as, of late, I was doing really well. I feel I've relapsed.

I need to be kinder to my old self. Who is ever the finished article? We are all learning to be better people. 

D&G (D&D for dyslexics)

As you know, I'm quite keen on Dungeons and Dragons. I've been DMing the Monday session (sometimes Tim takes over) for the best part of 2 years, all via Zoom. 

I was feeling really rubbish yesterday. I couldn't concentrate at all. Read one page and then just put it down. None of it had gone in, but I decided to relax as I told myself I knew it well enough and that there were really just 4 phases of play:

1. Escape the lair intact having done the reconnaissance 
2. Return to Saltmarsh and give the information to Eliander and the war party
3. Repel the Sahuagin attack on the town
4. Lead the assault on the Sahuagin lair.

It worked brilliantly. A huge assault with a variety of humans and humanoids - some aquatic - and the job is nearly done. This was the table by the end of the evening.

A D&G session

One thing I haven't done well recently is following the sequence of play. This is a very pertinent thing for my type of dementia. It's easy to get lost in it all when it's happening around you. But last night I did really well until almost the last phase of play, where I missed one player's turn, but it was quickly picked up on and it was fine.

It's such a tonic for me to Dungeon Master  - particularly this group of players - as everyone wants to keep the story rolling, and the group is small enough to work at its most efficient. Anything larger than 5 players and Dungeon Mastering becomes a cat-herding exercise.

I woke up feeling energised and brighter than I have of late. At last! This is pretty much the case after most DMing sessions. Perhaps I should break down the core parts of the game which I'm benefiting from and concentrate on those.

Dementia Dungeon Fronto Wotsit Lobe Temporal Thing

Problem B's

Blog

...is not showing up on internet searches. I'm baffled as to why this is. This is why I've introduced headings as well as SEO stuff  on the back end. You know, key-words and so forth. It's tedious if you ask me. Why doesn't the search engine recognise words on the blog? Thanks for clicking on my link to get here but at this time of writing I am invisible as far as Google is concerned.

Breakfasts: 

We're all getting up at the same time and it's chaos. We're all down here together and I have to have silence at the table. I realise this is unreasonable but I can't read with people talking. So I have to go to another room which I do. Apparently I'm normally completely passive-aggressive when I do this (moi?) but today I think I managed it with good grace. I'll find out later from J if I succeeded.

I just read some great book reviews in The TImes. When someone précis a book and tells you why it's good or bad why read the actual book afterwards? Someone just got rid of all the guff for you - all the hot air - the irrelevant stuff - has been cut away and you're left with the chicken oyster. 

I mean, duhhh!

Blogs (other people's)

I read other dementia sufferers' blogs yesterday in my research. Flippin' 'eck Tucker; mine's nothing like theirs. Mine is a series of stupid/mad rants with dementia making cameo roles for the most part, and theirs are all grown-up and proper and sensible and stuff. Lots of sensible photographs and positivity. You've got to be positive. Positive even when you can't type anymore and dribbling down your shirt. Positivity! 

At least I can still breathe! Whhooo!

My blog's nothing like theirs. Why's this always the case with everything I do? Why can't I be like them? Always the oddball who doesn't get it and tries so hard and then it's obvious I'm trying too hard everything thinks I'm a prat. Quite rightly too, it must be said.

I must try to be like them and fit in. That's what I must do. Fit in. Yes.

"Well, you've made such a good job of it so far. in your life. Titter."

WHO SAID THAT?

I need to grow up. I thought adulthood would occur on my 18th birthday. I thought I'd feel an urge to go to Hodges in the High Street and buy a tweed sports-jacket and some brogues and be like other adult males. 

Well obviously that never happened. 

Bloody builders

...at the hospital breaking stuff in the demolition phase of whatever it is they're doing there is making the house shake and driving the dogs nuts. I sent a couple of emails about that and got a reply from the hospital. Amazingly the noise and shaking stopped.

RESULT!

This turned out to be just a coincidence. They'd finished that stage of the job.

Moral: don't think you can make a difference by sending 2 emails.

Bloody mental dreams

Waking up exhausted having fought radiator beasts or whatever it was. I reckon I could have that Tyson in a fight if I shared a bed with him. Bloody pillows all asunder, bloody duvet out the window.

Okay, I'm going to tell you: dreamt I was in an inception-like world on a train going to America via the moon in order to sell blue jam which was going to be the latest thing as no American had ever tasted British jam before. And everyone was a drawing.

AAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! 

MAKE IT STOP.

Brains

Brains: can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em.

I participated in tests for doctoral students where I was asked some questions and had to draw lines, like emulating an oscilloscope. Whilst doing it I felt a bit silly, as though this was a somewhat facile exercise. I stopped at one stage, having completed several pieces of paper with the pencil (all thoughtfully but unnecessarily provided in a pack) and being me I apologised, asking if I was doing it right? 

"Oh no, this is brilliant!" 

Blimey I thought. Some people are easily pleased. It's an hour of my time, and they seem nice, bless them.

So they got their results which I posted back to them in the equally thoughtfully provided SAE. 

For whose benefit was this? They are lovely people  - all kind, committed and caring academics. But after discussion with other FTD sufferers, it's quite apparent to us that efforts to get to grips with our condition can sometimes be wide of the mark. In these instances they can take a rather large blunt instrument to crack a nut when, with a bit more reconnaissance they could hit the mark far more efficiently.  

Another analogy would be that we're on one track, and they speed past on a train on a parallel track. We have the intention of going to the same destination but we never consulted each other and so we end up missing the other, and that feels frustrating.

What I'm trying to say is they could just talk to us. But rather than ask leading questions, ask us what works and what doesn't. Let's have an open conversation rather than a linear one.

While we're still sentient and retain the majority of our faculties, we can provide answers that we're all looking for. We hold the keys.

I still read The Times every morning, I talk to my friends and family about politics, culture and all the other things you do. I take in the information and process it. I'm not as quick as I once was, but hey, I'm still here, running at xx% of capacity.

When someone knows you have dementia you are suddenly marked. A well-meaning professional can end up asking your partner how you are - in that "Does he take sugar?" way. It's quite odd the first time it happens. It's an unconscious step people make in their approach and connection with you when they know you've got it. After all, you're no longer quite in control anymore old boy, so it can be a bit "Me Doctor, you patient."

Some people's whole demeanour changes when they discover your illness, and what they choose to talk about is made rather less taxing than it would have previously been. When the topic would previously have been the Dürer exhibition at the National Gallery or the latest cabinet reshuffle, it now doesn't get past the weather.

Some people with dementia are quite incredible: super smart people who've led very successful lives and have found that practices born from academic theories on how best to deal with the symptoms of a specific dementia don't work for them. 

My friend 'A' found nothing recommended worked for her and took an empirical approach to her dementia, with a combination of multiple techniques including dance, mental exercises, meditation, breathing techniques and mnemonics. This resulted in her seemingly cure her condition to the extent she now feels fraudulent being in dementia support groups! Indeed, an MRI scan confirmed a hole in her hippocampus has actually disappeared. 

This is not supposed to happen.

She has offered her findings to the neurological establishment but they have so far yet to respond. 

I would suspect it's because she has not come from a scientific background.

Disclaimer: I'm completely pro-science - I have no time for anti-vaxxers and all that nonsense. Science is the reason I'm alive today, and probably the reason you are too. However, there is little to benefit sufferers of FTD at present. Rather than coming from something starting with a theory then following the conventions of scientific practice, why not just see what works then reverse-engineer to see how and why it's working? I don't see any harm in this. I just wish people in the establishment were more open. 

It's great to have the online communities and share our experiences and what works for us. Whilst the the researchers nobly do their thing (and in doing so benefit the world) we will continue with ours, sharing our experiences, recommending practices that benefit us and perpetuating the conversation.

And hopefully all sides will converge one day in the sunny uplands for a glass or 2. Chin chin.

Stan Ogden and The Talking Penis

Rude!

Last night J went out with a friend to the theatre. As R is away I ended up looking after the 3 dogs. I gave them some lovely hake from my fish and chips (little bit-sized cubes without batter of course) and we watched the whole of Reacher on Prime. I think Chippy liked it the best and watched it from the sofa with me; Stan likes draughts so he's always falling asleep by the front door, and Wilbur prefers a pile of shoes to sleep on. 

The appeal of Reaper: it's reassuring to see a Judge Dredd with a heart dispensing instant justice to bad guys. Over-simplistic? Check. Antediluvian? Check. Formulaic? Check. 

Doesn't stop it from being thoroughly enjoyable. 

The other thing I watched was Pam and Tommy. It's fun and trashy, and the storyline is a bit of a mess, and it's most notable for the prosthetics worn by both lead actors. It's too daft to be truly offensive. Tommy's talking penis is one of the characters in the show - basically doing the job of a Muppet™. 

It's funny at the moment that in readdressing the balance all programmes are thinking they're very cutting edge by showing as many penises as possible. Can't they see they're all doing it? It's actually become cliche now.

Anyway, the fish and chips was good.

Crikey!

FTD bv (Behavioural Varaint)

Just talking to J this morning. She could have been a double for Pamela Anderson too (with all the hair and make-up). I love going to places where she's dressed up as she looks absolutely gorgeous and she's really smart too, and she can work a room with the best of them. And I'm shallow enough to wallow in the fact that she's with me.

We talked about when our relationship started to change. I suggested it could have been prior to the inception of dementia - that once I'd got married at 45 I'd done the old adage of putting my feet up and becoming Stan Ogden. 

However J was pretty insistent that it wasn't middle-agedom, but the dementia what done it.

So in the bar chart of life (yawn) how much of the 'problem' is middle-aged inertia and how much is FTD? We'll probably never know. J is maybe being generous to me saying it's all dementia. 

But I don't have any precise data on that.

If J is correct though, that is the saddest part of dementia. It's what it does to your relationships. It's what comes between you and your wife/husband/partner. It just stands between you, immovable and smug, pushing you apart. You know something has changed but not what or why. You can't see it or smell it or hear it. It doesn't make any sense. People become sad and angry, furious at their partners (both sides) as one accuses the other of changing (even physically in the way you kiss as the tongue is governed by the brain) and the other partner lashes back denying everything as they are unaware that there is any change except in the other partner who's accusing them, for seemingly no reason. 

That is the biggest cruelty about the disease: it's an emotional smart-bomb.

And rest...

Thinking I was better (in a cognitive way) yesterday I thought I would hedge my bets and just have an easy day, hence the TV binge. If I rested, I thought, it would bode well for today. 

And I woke up feeling brighter and more alert than I had for over a week.

Until...Jacqui started telling me about the Kafkaesque nature of her work as a management consultant, and then my brain stalled. I just couldn't take in what she was saying, and it started to sound like babble. (It actually is babble.) As a safety mechanism my mind wandered into multiple areas and I thought of cartoon characters and TV clips and numerous other things. After a couple of minutes of real time I realised I had been in safety-mode and had to ask her to stop. She understood, thankfully.

What's worrying is at moments like that I can feel the tension physically. The back of my cranium starts to throb and I can feel my temples about to burst. Is this par for the course with dementia?

It'd be nice to know.

Brain fart #3

(Disclaimer: I'm very dissatisfied with this blog entry. Is it as boring as I suspect it is? Please answer below.)

Wednedsay

Feeling better now. More synced with the world. I'm able to converse with people. I still feel awkward and can stumble mid-sentence but I think I'm better than I was. Maybe not bendigedig yet, but good.

Beautiful skies. It's been such a dry month, January. 

Thursday

What rubbish start to a blog entry.

That was yesterday where I started to do stuff but it quickly fizzled into nothing. I'm listening to my body more and when I see these signs of failure of cognisance and executive function er... malfunction and try to just rest and not expect myself to achieve anything.

I did watch a 2 1/2 hour YT clip of Christopher Hitchens and a lecturer in a Christian College in the US (where else?) having a debate about the existence of the Christian god. Hitchens only had 2 years left to live and he was probably ill at the time with the cancer that killed him. He looked pretty sozzled too, having mentioned his trip to the college bar in his introductory speech. It wasn't vintage Hitch.

Oh, I cleaned the house too. Not too bad then. 

But it's is disappointing though when the next day I'm not much brighter.

My blog entries are best when my brain is fizzing, I'm angry or happy. 

Dreams of Matthew Green (old schoolfriend) and the Market Place in Wells at night, and strange portents. 

Wrestling the duvet, waking up and sleeping and waking up and sleeping. I lose track of how many times.

I wonder if these entries will become increasingly dull as time progresses?

Walking the dogs this morning in the park and snippets of dialogue in my head from Betjemen - "Joan Hunter Dunn, Joan Hunter Dunn...Come friendly bombs, rain on Slough" to Stewie Griffin from Family Guys "Its lame; everything's lame."  then back to earth as J says I'm walking too fast and she may be having an atrial fibrillation attack. We walk slower and thankfully she doesn't have an episode.

Why so many random and half-forgotten memories of the past?

Back to a the house for a civilised breakfast - the backbone of British culture. R is eating soup (always a savoury gob in the morning) and the dishwasher is full from last night and needs emptying. My neck and cranium are aching so I take some Ibuprofen, trying to ignore the wanton laziness of R as I empty the dishwasher and tell myself it's not her.

J makes breakfast for the dogs - which has become a more complicated affair than feeding her children ever was - and I make ours. Grind beans, slice bread, lay the table, pour cold water on the coffee, wait 20 seconds to pour the water from the kettle on, then stir and wait. The routine.

Some talking from R, which is - unfairly - adding fuel to the fire within me, and then J's phone starts vibrating with a call. It's her boss at 8.50. The audacity! Cue loud conversation between J and alpha-type on the other end. I take my toast and coffee into the other room.

Once more our breakfast is destroyed.

I'm not on my best form. I shall get off the screen and read. Meeting Larry at The Antelope to discuss spell antigens for my Changeling character in Shadowrun - a game that makes D&D look like 'Snap' in its complexity. 

There is a version of a sci-fi RPG called Traveller 5 which involves doing the actual equations to work out velocity when slingshotting around a gas giant or sun. I'm unqualified for that particular pastime, but I'd hazard a guess that Gabriel would enjoy it (MSc in Theoretical Physics).

It is a beautiful day. Blue skies and mild. I'd love some snow though: after all, this is February. Just a few days of snow makes the winter worthwhile.

I would like to end on a pithy sentence but I'm clean out of those today. Sorry for being boring.