I wasn’t going to walk around town today; fractals stole my eyesight at 9 o’clock. By lunchtime I’d got it back, but my migraine was like a prison chain gang breaking rocks in my frontal lobe – thump, crack, thump, crack.
In M&S café it was kicking off, with pensioners shoving each other to reach the cashier. I felt like pointing out that actually I was the only one with work to go to. I’m too courteous now – I’ve left my street fighting days behind me. Though, to be fair, I’ve never picked scraps with the elderly.
On the way back to the office, I spied this beauty in the window of the Hospice charity shop. The staff were confused and surprised, when I asked if it worked. It’s the model favoured by Cormac McCarthy, who sold his old one to a collector for thousands of dollars, then bought a replacement for twenty.
What I’m really after, is a cold war era Erika, so that I can pretend to be typing Samizdat, which I then have to hide from the KGB. This is how boring my life is. Although, I do have many unorthodox views by today’s standards. Such as, I quite like men and don’t think they should be more like women. Heresy, I know. I need an Erika to write pro-masculine novels, to share with likeminded souls, through a network of secret book clubs. I’m actually thinking of the Two Ronnies’ series, The Worm that Turned, as I write this, and laughing at the mental image of Ronnie Barker in a frock.
My friend sent me a book he self-published today and it made me very happy. We’re fortunate to live in an era where writing and sharing your work is so cheap and easy. See, I don’t hate everything about the 21st Century.