Dick Jones' Patteran Pages
A patteran is a coded configuration of leaves, sticks and stones left at the roadside by Gypsies to communicate with each other. This is my digital version, left for any passers-by...




















































































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Thursday, July 24, 2003
 

GOT UP, WENT TO BED

Some days blow by like dead leaves. They pass from first light to sudden dusk & you realise bit by bit that you have performed no meaningful deeds & you have had no great thoughts & the world might have withered away around you without your noticing. 

Today was one such. I rose late, bathed, dressed & stared blindly at the mail. I changed the sheets; I emptied the washing machine, both tasks performed in a state of Zen blankness.  Emma took Reuben to the clinic &, in the spectral silence that fell as the car drove away, I footled idly on the computer - defragged, altered my spam alert settings (typed in 'pornstar', 'viagra' & 'penis'), downloaded some freeware, dumped some fonts. Then I sat staring at the screen wondering whether to change the background. After about 15 minutes I decided not to, feeling that the effort required would simply be too enervating. 

I must have dined at some point but have no recollection of when or of what I ate. I listened to the news at 2.00 PM & registered on some subliminal level that events had occurred that, at another time, would have energised me mightily - raised the blood pressure, kick-started the rage against the machine, had me brainstorming a weblog rant. But righteous indignation - that Emperor's-New-Clothes incredulity at the world's blindness to cant & hypocrisy - failed to shift the adrenaline & I slipped into slack-jawed catatonia on the sofa.

Only a brisk late afternoon walk with Reuben in the pushchair down to the minimart began to stir the blood. I had decided that I would buy a Bounty lolly & a banana-flavoured Yazoo. Keen anticipation was maintained for the 10-minute journey. Unfortunately they had only tropical fruit lollies & a make of banana-flavoured milkshake that I knew had the consistency of sump oil. I returned chastened & the day spun slowly, like a dropped plate, to a standstill.

And now, at 5-to-midnight, with a teething Reuben noisily asleep beside me, I look forward to my own slumber & - as the gospel shout has it - a new day in the morning. (Congratulations, gentle reader, if you've trudged the full mileage of this post.  Maybe we both ought to get a lifeÖ).


1:06:05 AM    Mmm? []



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