Sunday, February 08, 2015

Anticipated action

As I hurriedly switched off my kitchen Internet radio as soon as a certain Sunday morning regular was threatened, I reflected that this is the longest period in my life (apart from my very early years) that I have resisted the allure of The Archers.  I have heard and read scraps of tantalizing information about the radical and sensationalist nature of the present story lines.  I have half listened to horrified commentators discussing the possible move from Ambridge of part of the Archer family – but I have resisted the urge to leave the radio running when the seven o’clock news (8 pm for us) has ended.
            But, in the same way as I always describe myself as an Anglican Atheist, always recognizing the powerful temptation of that vacillating organization, perhaps I should describe myself as a lapsed Archers listener rather than a person who does not listen?  Even writing about them I sense a tingling in the forefinger of my right hand which just needs to snake its way behind my head and press the internet radio button in the living room for familiar (or now, I fear, complete strangers) will talk their way into my life.
            From past experience, when I have un-lapsed, I know that it will be days before I am back in the swim of rural, agricultural life and hooked once more.  So, I’ll carry on typing until the urge subsides.

            Yesterday evening was so cold (for us) that we went round rolling down the shutters on some of the windows.  Our windows are thinly glazed and much of the heat that we generate (from the most expensive energy providers in Europe!) is dissipated.  It does give our living space the appearance of an underground cavern, but it does make it warmer.
            At the moment the sun is on the back of my head and the skies are a peerless blue – but it’s still cold for we seashore dwellers.

            I have now reached 450,000 page views in this blog.  Which is frankly astonishing.  I am not sure that I can bring myself to believe that the number refers to actual fingers on keys and eyes on computer screens.  I feel that many of those hits must be electronic website crawlers snuffling their intrusive way into all aspects of our computerised lives.  Or perhaps I’m wrong and this diary of a relative nobody has had a real audience that I would describe as damned healthy!
            To whoever (and whatever) is reading this: my thanks.  You, the unseen audience, have encouraged me to keep writing and give me a conduit to the past.
            A few days ago I delved back into the early years of this blog and re-read the end of my time in The Worst School in the World in Sitges.  I was gripped, amused, depressed and relieved – and anything which can generate those emotions deserves to be read!
            I also realized the number of spelling mistakes, infelicities in expression, things left unsaid, lacunae, self-indulgence, incoherence, rabid meanderings, neologisms, simple mistakes, and so on.  But all of those gave the writing an immediacy and freshness that would disappear in a more polished format.
            I really do feel that I am now back in the flow of writing this blog and feel a new enthusiasm for its production.  There is also regret for the omission over the past year and a bit.  That perception of my life is now gone for that period and will never return with the immediacy that these pages give to my lived wonderings!

At the moment one of our neighbours has got an engine, a motorcycle engine I think it is, running in his back garden giving the effect of a medium sized plane stationary next to the swimming pool.  There is just enough variety in the monotony of the intrusive sound to capture attention but not enough to satisfy it.  It is the sort of sound that makes half past eleven on a Sunday morning just perfect!  What better time to irritate the maximum number of people relaxing after a week in work?  Why is it that flame throwers are never to hand when you need them most?

Toni is now reaching a high point of frustration about the non-appearance of the book for his course.  He has already expressed himself with exemplary volubility about the sudden imposition of charges for these essential pieces of equipment for his next two courses and, having paid for them, he is now equally fluent in his vituperation concerning the university and the delivery organization.  It will be ironic indeed if the books that I have ordered (for my course, of course, naturally) arrive before his!  I only hope that I am in the swimming pool when that happens and that Toni will have the self-control not to consign my reading matter there!

Time to sip the dregs, depart and make up for my lack of lengths yesterday!

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