Effortless welcome day of nothing. Think you did fuck all? I’ll raise ya.
The wedding last night ate all my thinking. The first one where I had collated the material. Was it gonna work? Was it gonna land? Would we remember it? Venue fuckery made me want to turn in a blinder. Client was lovely. We nailed it. Then I walked home through late night London and stopped briefly under millennium bridge to dance with the guy outside the salvation army shelter who likes to make his vicinity into a little portable rave courtesy of a gargantuan backpack speaker and a bicycle. It puts me in mind of the “ghetto blaster” thing in the eighties. Largely, portable music is stigmatised. I sometimes like it when people break the social contract on purpose. I made an Instagram reel as it felt old school and somehow redolent of youthful freedom. I associate dance music with simpler younger times.
Today I lay on a bed with cats. I only really got up to make coffee. Ordered curry for dinner. Had eggs on toast for breakfast. Pretty much any effort was off the list, I really couldn’t be bothered to do thinking things, practical things, anything things. Didn’t even watch anything on telly. Played a bit of magic the gathering, stroked the cats. I’m a teenager again! Bedtime now and I don’t deserve it, but it is almost eleven and by rights I should have been asleep hours ago. I’ll drink a bottle of water and switch myself off, curl up with the fluffpots and see about being a little less of a nothing tomorrow. I did have a little walk in the evening. Wandered up the road, cut through the Chelsea streets, saw an old friend. And I’m knackered. Honestly, the idler we get the more tired we feel. This is a strong argument in favour of exercise.
AlBarclay 