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Fighting the power!

I'm on the way to the stop the war demonstration when I first notice my text messages are getting increasingly radicalised. I'm exhorting my friends to join me to stick it to the man, and am soon blaming the fascist neo-cons for the invasion of Iraq, and suspending train services out of Willesden with their so called "engineering works" to stifle dissent.

There's something about left-wing demonstrations that really gets me carried away.

I was determined to come along though. Two years ago we marched to say No to war, and the government showed how willing it was to ignore public opinion. By coming along today, I could say that we did not forget, and we didn't just go away and watch our soaps. Plus I'm still feeling guilty about voting Labour for a third consecutive time.

There's such a wide range of views clustered around this subject, it's hard to know when to cheer. Tony Benn, of course, gets the biggest cheer of them all (the man is my hero). But applauding the insurgency for attacking British troops (admittedly it's an illegal occupation, but more fighting can't be the answer)? And do we really want the entire Labour Government thrown out?

At least I got to shout "Troops out" like a 60s Vietnam demo. And it must be said, the parallels are becoming striking.

By the way, does anyone else notice anything strange in one of my pictures?

Made a couple of visits to wembley over the past few years.... 

Haven't been here for a while.

Lacking any plans for the weekend and running out of ways to occupy myself, I decided to take a walk. From home to Wembley, up Harrow Hill and back home again. What my Dad used to call a stroll.

Apart from the abberation of yesterday at work, I've had a lot of free time on my hands lately. So I've just been wandering around, killing time. It's great.

There's some loud, drunk Danish conversation filling the flat too. Maybe it's time I learnt a new language.

Aching to leave

I think my return to work yesterday after nearly a full week off was just a little ill-starred. For a start it sucked that I wasn't allowed to take a whole week as holiday, having had nothing but three days sick leave throughout the whole summer. Secondly, whilst rushing to answer a phone I crashed into the side of a desk so hard I punched a hole in my work trousers and walked with a limp all day. Yes, it's good to be back.

Where I certainly overstepped the line was whilst out at a lunch to say goodbye to our student. I'd just ordered, when my line manager called up and was, admittedly, out of order. The correct thing to do would be to have a subtle word with manager about how sometimes things are said in the wrong way. The wrong thing to do was to have a massive rant in front of the whole team about how much that had pissed me off. Not what grown-ups do, but still very satisfying.

I *really* need a new job now. And I've got a few leads, at least.

Simulcra Corner

Big old tree in the secret garden, Hampstead Heath. Maybe there's another secret they're not telling us.

And it was all yellow

It's a very different flat now than it was at the start of the sumnmer. And not just because it's so much cleaner and yellower.

Whilst I was alone here, I decided that rather than stare at the walls I might prefer to paint them instead. So I moved into Mog's old room, and spent a fun five evenings making my room an exciting yellow with metallic blue border. It's so much nicer now. On top of that, I cleaned the bathroom, kitchen, front room and had the hallway decorated by our kind landlords. No news on the new kitchen floor though.

Oddly enough, ever since the other two left, so did the mice. Haven't seen one in six weeks. And their new place has bugs.

Oh, and I've got two brand new flatmates, one of whom came all the way from Denmark to be here in Meteor Street.

It's true, look how they shine for you

NB- This happened some time ago. Like I say, we're playing catch-up.
It's early in the morning, and I'm throwing stones into the sea trying to work out how I ended up in Brighton with a pounding head, chipped teeth and very muddy clothes. This is going to take some work.

Go back. Try and remember.

I'm trying to sleep in a haystack. The straw's surprisingly rough, and there seems to be something crawling up my leg. I shift position, but that doesn't seem to help. My face feels oddly creased, and I notice a chip in my tooth that wasn't there before.

Not far enough. Keep going back.

"Looks like I lost" she giggled, after she drained the dregs of the whisky, sat back in her chair and fell flat on the ground. I'm staring into the fire as the muddy garden seems to spin uncontrollably. She wasn't this drunk when I started talking to her, but that was before one of us suggested a whisky drinking competition.
"I'm not supposed to drink whisky", she slurs. "My husband says I can't handle it."
Husband. I say. You're married. There's a very scary looking man with a piercing looking straight at me.

Further back. Don't be scared.

I'm in a room with the remains of a buffet and some people. I've got a glass of wine in my hand and I'm talking to Angela and some of her friends.

Angela. That's good.

Don't interrupt. I'm talking to her when her sleazy flatmate comes up to me. Earlier he'd tried to put food in my mouth, and I hate that. I'm cutting some cheese when I hear him say.
I'll shag anything.
There's a hand on my back. I move away. My grip on the knife is tightening.
Excuse me, I say. I'm cutting some cheese.
I skewer a bit of cheddar and bite it off the knife. Ah, the teeth. He's still there, and I glare at him as I take the knife and drive it into the block of cheese. There's a thud as it hits the plate below. He backs away.
Angela leads me away. Let me show you where we'll be camping. The room seems to have gone quiet.

You seemed aggressive. But he is a sleazy f***, I'll give you that.

I'm in the kitchen, and I haven't been there long. There's a large haze of smoke, and a voice asks me if I want some.
It's been a while, but OK.

Keep going.

The taxi driver isn't looking as amused as I am that no-one seems to have heard of the place. He's looking at me suspiciously, trying to work out if there's a rave on his patch. I'm keeping my eye on the road, trying to find a white house with solar panels. Except it's very dark by the time I arrive.

"People round here aren't that friendly to outsiders." He tells me. Except when the outsider's just given them a 14 quid fare.

I'd agreed to go to the party even before I knew where it was. Because strange stuff happens around Angela. As I sat on Brighton beach, stiching together my fractured memories, I receive a text from her telling me I was the life and soul of the party. But if you can remember something like that, you really weren't there.

After an endless journey, I got home to find Meg and Mog had gone. And they'd taken everything. It's going to be a long couple of weeks.

We're playing catch-up....

It's been a funny, unplugged sort of summer. And I've got no idea where to start explaining it all. There's some good stories though, so I might just leave at that.

But for now, just forget about the chronology.

...and that's green for "Go"

Sorry we took so long. But we're back.