Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

Feeling strangely grey. Translucent grey. Globular too. Like soot diffused into molten wax, now cold. But watery. Softer. The contents of a hollow container; a container too understated too exist. An Adipose wraith; less charming, less present.

Hammered by circumstances; I built the forge. Beset by Kipling's mutinous men; soul set to auto-immune. Endless stumbling skirmishes whirling seditiously.

The truth was not the answer. It may not even be the beginning of the answer. Glib is neither.

Occasionally reaching up to touch the weak facsimile of life, copied on dying cartridge, shaken to stir, to start. Dim, scattered ink dissolved by touch; in memory it was always blank. Yet. An ember somewhere. An ember scarce remembered. Distantly deep den of darkness. A homœopath's scintilla.

Spinning the batteries of hope one last time. The only warmth the friction of bread-mould crystals on the contacts.

Well, maybe next time. We'll always have—there is no always; there never has been.

---

Because that's how reading sidebars clashing with the confident, cocky, chaotic cacophony of youth made me feel. Perhaps, where did it all go wrong? Simply, where did it all go?

Beautiful and unique snowflakes are crushed into the pack, drowning mangled, marred by grit, scarred by salt, an ever-weakening, -thinning quixotic slick of treachery, fit only to retain the cruel disdain of humans—detritus padding—to linger unwanted for a distorted temporary age, swamped by the new young or ever vanishing, to be forgotten far longer than they'll ever be remembered, lost for so long that snow itself is a surprise.

If only "you are not a beautiful and unique snowflake" were true.

Anyhoo,

PS. Yes, I am publishing this rather than leave it as yet another draft in the forlorn hope (what other sort is there?) that the utter Typepadishness will embarrass me into posting more to bump it down the page.

On further questioning he admitted to having pale stools and dark urine.

The most interesting line to come out of a talk by one these guys, albeit on the medical notes left behind in the lecture theatre. Beyond the hepatitis, it was the usual call for a war-footing, ditching of GDP as anything but a measure of what it is, and wondering why we appear to be waiting for it start snowing technology*.

I am of course leaving out much, because, well, if I repeat what normally gets repeated then the wilful hedonism option does start to look attractive.

So what else has been happening? Well, I've seen both James Corden and Ruby Wax; the former in incongruous shoes on Hantstead Heath, the latter twice in the RA. I quite liked the bit where she gets fired at the wall.

I've played drink while you think with in-laws (not mine but I've yet to work out the correct term for them).

I've been repeatedly disappointed by a recurrent trending topic on Twitter; It's snowing is just misleading when they're talking about Austin or Albany not 'Ackné or 'Ammasmith.

Thought this good.

Failed to finish a children's book yet.

Managed to buy dry-clean-only trousers, but they are quite nice, and labels like that are like the best-before dates on food or the red man on crossings. Scant is a good word, isn't it?

Managed not to buy some skinny jeans**, not because of the mutton trussed as lamb thing, but because I was mostly skinnier. I clearly need a job that I have to get the Tube to (and so spend my days running up escalators) or move back to Exciter. Suddenly the grunge of the Gumtreed doesn't seem so bad; they may be halfway to Hardfortsheer but at least they're in Loldom, technically.

And on that thought I'm off to fortify myself for tomorrow's home hiring hopes.

Anyhoo,

* One day it will. Pray you don't live that long.
** I manage to be so far off the fashion radar I'm probably on its sonar. I think part of the problem is I don't tend to look at the men around me and wonder what their clothes will look like on me. Now try that with a different stress.

Weird dream: We all had to stop everything and sit in the darkness for twenty minutes while they closed the flood barrier.

Clearly wasn't a very long dream. Just the type of dream must-be-published-by-thirty* novels are made of.

* My brother and his friends had a competition to see who would be the first to get their novel published. I scoffed at his inability to write a book. Whereas I merely forget how old I am or am nearly and that exempts me. Anyway, I've tried writing stories. I have a habit of neglecting to include any likeable characters. Or making it like that awful blazing tsunami of doom book which wipes out London (yes, I know that's pretty much par for the course in the first 45 seconds of the disaster any disaster film is built around [God, villians, sacrificial English-speakers], but this book made the waltzing tornadoes of Day After Tomorrow look sane). Just because one's found out what could happen and how it could happen does not mean it all will happen especially not at the same time.

But it might. Right about the point the quick brown pig jumps over the lazy shark while building up the speed to take off.

There was some other dream as well, but it wasn't of Twitterable length so I can't remember it.

Speaking of which, just noticed Desert Island Discs trending. How not very 2.0 is that?

Speaking of music [albeit blatantly nicked from Stephen Fry's Twitter]:

[/easily amused]

Anyhoo,

Have you walked into a church on a winter's day?

Not just me, is it?

Although having listened again much later it may well be.

Anyway, something else. How should one respond to the following sic text?
I find pleasure in your company for the following reasons.. Your articulate ,humourous sensitive ,strong minded and why would I not want to buy you a meal . Oh and on a more personal note ... Well you'll just have to wait till our next meeting... If there is to be one ?

The hills are alive with the sound of people running to them? Apart from anything else: Your articulate... What? Cousin? Eyebrows? Lorry?

And there other things that never got worked out beyond the précis:
- Stomach making noises like Skype.
- Bus. Oyster out. Dripping ceiling. The Waters of Mars. The joys of the 29 and living up to the stereotype and therefore having watched it live and on iPlayer. Water always wins. Though you'd think something called Oyster would be able to cope with it.
- The joys of subliminal Facebook messages:
-- X Y and K Y are now friends.
-- X Y is all signed up for her first course in counselling!

Anyhoo,

Musical swears: when the music stops the last one to say the most popular swear word loses.

This thought brought to you by letters M and, er, M. Because HWSNBN was aghast that Lily Allen runs to perky swearing, his friends give warnings if a song has a single swear word in one line, and the other M, who is really a Mr M and not an M at all, warned me that lambs swear a lot.

So, through a mix of cajoling and that which kills cats (best described as mostly oh-what-the-hell and a dash of WTF?) on Saturday I found myself in a dungeon. beer cellar. black box theatre, although that's not true as it's got a proscenium arch, actually two of them, except one is also exit stage left. Anyway, a vaulted undercroft type thing.

And in this VUTT we were promised very emphatic silence. By the way, don't sit in the end seat of the front row of the emptier second bay of seating because, while it's got most leg room of anywhere (it would have seemed rude to have them sticking too far on to the stage) it also happens to be one of two exits from the stage. Not only does one have to sit side-saddle whenever the scenes change but that position also benefits from assorted pats and strokes and occasionally outright flirting (complete with a theatrical wink; well, it was in a theatre). I haven't had that much unsolicited contact since I was six (if we ignore the bits where contact came wrapped in Clark's best). And I've still no idea what the thanks were for.

Anyway, I went to see Mooglee in Silence!, the of-the-lambs musical. And now I don't need to watch Silence of the Lambs because I know what happens. Although possibly it might have helped to have seen it before. But I can't know that either way. And wasn't the only person picking it up as it went (the laugh was too).

So in the normal manner of my reviews it was MBTIWWIMB. And Mooglee is much less fearsomely intimidating than I was expecting him to be. Though that's possibly because I equate horrifically talented as meaning it'll have gone to his head. Which I expected to be about 150% of life-size and made of weathered bronze (he does look like he ought to be in some Olympian prequel--Zeus: the Halcyon Days).

Basically the one bit I think they could have improved one probably ought not do (it involves a triangle and an royal attribute of an actor).

Anyway, so now I know Mooglee has many strings to his bow (well, there's a red one, an orange one, a yellow...).

So yeah, nice guy I don't really know.

In other news orders for Christmas cards, um, actually exist. Which is weird. But cool. Somehow managing to have the usual doubts along the lines of "are they only saying 'yes' because I asked them" or "are they only saying yes because a mutual contact mentioned it and they liked the options and no, this is nothing like that much--ok, so 'vaunted' doesn't mean what I've always assumed it to mean--praised word-of-mouth".

Anyway, for the London cohort (i.e. those who won't need things posted*), order this weekend for collection from the 21st. A6, blank inside, 5 for 10GBP or 1.50GBP each for ten or more. What others have already chosen. To order, until I work out how to make a website work, email me the links followed by the number desired of each image, so something like (or leave it in the comments, provided I can trace you):
http://www.flickr.com/photos/anyhoo/379211708/ 6
http://www.flickr.com/photos/anyhoo/2478231673/ 5
http://www.flickr.com/photos/anyhoo/4006688268/ 1

* I can post them on, but given the current state of the system it's probably better by other means, and then there's the ambiguity and irrationality of postage costs (meaning I can't even get a consistent price for a postcard to America let alone anything thicker or heavier. I could just Amazonise it and just say P+P = 5 quid, but that doesn't feel fair).

Oh, and it doesn't just have to be Christmas cards. Basically anything on my branch of Flickr can be made into a card. But clearly Christmas is dominating at the moment.

And in other news I've just noticed the counter at the bottom of my Flickr page shows I've 15,000 images on there. The -th is at the top. But it's only an edit of a previously posted shot because I didn't realise I was near the threshold. Although at least it saves me trying to pick one. Yet it isn't fifteen-thousandth in the stream because it's next to the one it amends. Probably best to just ignore the milestone then, because all it's really celebrating is my indecisiveness, which is more of a millstone.

While on numbers, Mr A-bit-over-a-third [5500] links something I found via Spotify and much like that song from the era of the original, it made me go "ooh".

[Um, can we just pretend I didn't try to check the dates and so find I get lyrics wrong? I think I'll be running away now]

Anyhoo,

"I suppose if you were whiling away time..."

My mother, the woman who refutes any claim that she's constantly critical. The topic was Flickr. You know, that thing I'd kept hidden from her because it was nice to have something beyond the withering realm (and because it shares the name with something else. Hello non-existent people!). She appeared to be complaining that there was any text accompanying the photographs. You know that stuff that explains context and makes the image identifiable and retrievable. The bit that implies I give a damn and am not just dumping the contents of my hard drive. Yep, that's all a complete waste of time. And this from the woman who when wanting to comment on images says which row of search results it was in (and then complains I've moved things).

I can't think why I didn't let her know about it sooner. Unpunctured praise can be very damaging. You wouldn't want to catch an ego, would you?

I probably ought to have pointed out that it's been spread over 5 years, but suspect she wouldn't see that as a good thing.

Woah, 5 years? That's a long time. Um, and this thing here is older isn't it? Oh. Golly. How soon before it learns cursive?

Arylnuo-,

[That's what it looks like when I write it]

PS. Because I've yet to post this I can keep adding to it. The latest was being given permission to leave the house despite not being in her house or her presence. House-point for the first to work out the scenario which lead to that.

Will Obama let America be disliked?

Sorry, wrong page. Particle image velocimetry is also wrong too. As is the bit that might say Brunel or Brunch.

So the Mantaster notes (I travelled coach, which is this case is not American for Economy, so found myself with a long time to fill, hence the notes):
- Sequin Scrunchie. I'm not sure adding more words can better express the concept. I was stuck waiting for the coach to get round to picking us up (but I ran, I took the Tube in the rush hour with luggage to avoid being late [the buses having just not come] and this is how you repay me?). It caught my attention. Along with some hair.
- More beards than a folk festival including two bigger than the heads bearing them. Again not much explanation needed.
- V. tempted to mist up the window and write "Let the train take the strain". Not sure the rest of the M1 would appreciate it though.
- When your live's in a mess. Never could remember which was life and which live. Did get to use it later.
- Plan: Bus-Walk-Coach-Bus. Actual: Wait-Run-Tube-Wait-Coach-Walk. Now even less of a fan of buses than I used to be.
- When did curvy lorries happen? I think they're M&S's. It's odd how simple, reasonable changes can seem so, well, odd. Though I still find it weird that they're no longer called artics because they nearly all are articulated.
- Golly, lorries go slowly, by which I mean they take a hell of a long time to sidle past on the inside.
- Is the toilet sign negative or positive? Lit when available? Or does red mean it's in use? [It turns out that despite displaying the male and female symbols for a loo when lit this means that it is not currently available. So red is the coded indicator. Heaven help the colourblind].
- Where the hell is Gulliver's Land? Though it is illustrated with a drawing of a Houyhnhnm, albeit impaled on a pole.
- [I think we can skip the lorry driver beard scoring section. Equus.pl seem to be winning].
- Star's Horror in Bookshop. Headline across the aisle. Suspect correct response is not does not begin "Ooh, is it the new...".
- Toilet is colour not symbol.
- Pentagon building corrugated, j N of M1 Welcome Break with glazed footbridge (S of Northampton Serv). It seemed interesting at the time; wasn't much else to do.
- Trains don't have seat belts. Maybe they ought to but I'm used to sitting side-saddle due to the whole legs thing. That and it's eroding my neck.
- Food & Drink roundel in Winnatrice Station not a clock not matter how hard you squint. I was running through it late and wanted to how.
- Pimped aisle. It had many blue LEDs.
- Autumn's gothy curse. Although gothy could also by grotty. Or apathy. Write like a prescription (ay-oh way-oh).
- Jacket made out of bar towels; useful in the rain. Across the aisle from me. National-Expressers have different sensibilities.
- Temporary speed restrictions on M6 toll. Kinda defeats the point of having a road how they all used to be. How depressing that I can remember the other.
- Muslim woman swathed in scarves, looks like a nun.
- iPhone in front: "starbucks price", "calories costa", "vegetarian falafel". I stopped reading over her shoulder at this point. She had an underfed bone structure (think retroussé cheekbones on a platter of "in the morning I'll be sober") and copy of a Twilight sequel.
- About as confrontational as his images. Of a Flickrite. I'll let you choose which one. But if you draw a 3x3 grid and colour most of the squares in blue and the middle square of the bottom row in pink (Flickr colours) you'll be somewhere near the right answer.
- Offensive (on the, occasionally verging on the outright). Ditto.
- So much Freudian analysis one wonders if he's related.
[And because I was doing stuff and not quite so bored the notes skip to the return]
- GBH Newsagents. Down the road from He Who Queues.
- Mere Monstrosities. The houses of.
- Anyhoo is in historic Canutesford with a Japanese woman of uncertain age nodding on his shoulder. [Guess who doesn't see the point in paying to tell people via Twitter or Facebook how bored I am IRT]
- Anyhoo is in historic Canutesford counting the grey hairs of the guy in the seat in front (5).
- Anyhoo is on a coach lost in historic Canutesford.
- Anyhoo has found Cranford (in historic Canutesford).
- Why is a weekend away odd? Ooh, 200 miles. I was bemused by the bewilderment that repeatedly greeted the idea than one could travel from Loldom to one of the Loldoms of the North for a single event.
- Anyhoo is on a coach with a [illegible] coach driver who can't read road signs
- [Anyhoo needs to improve his handwriting.]
- Anyhoo has Japanese woman again.
- HWQ: sun trousers comment. I think I'd best leave HWQ to explain this one.
- Anyhoo can see the Red Sea (of lights).
- St George's cross badge on lapel of hideously white second-leg driver - National Express customers = ? [Am I wrong in my assumptions? It's just patriotism does seem very American]
- Anyhoo is, after one-hour-and-twenty-minutes of travel, on a road heading towards Batten Park and Mantaster.
- Decorative Garden Centre (?)
- Anyhoo is travelling back in the right direction (finally covering the roundabout [something] like the sign for one [it was dark by this stage, hence the wonky writing]).
- Not a Christian ([something that looks a bit like 'or'] another ['interest' or 'anti[something'}... Oh, figured it out now. It's meant to read "Not a Christian (on another continent '...or European')". The terms in this context being synonymous (equally euphemistic).
- Takes one to know one. Thus spake the ex-teacher.
- Anyhoo voyeurs. Except that sounds like polished metal brushing past concrete, so clearly I could never have written it.
- LDA (Long Distance Awkwardness. Coined through an inappropriate use of LOL, but strangely fitting of about a third of the interactions with HWQ).
- As Chamberlain said to Hitler. Nicked from a book of Victoria Wood sketches (I was waiting post-party for others to emerge and I'd already done the washing up). the line before it was something like "Look, we're both reasonably intelligent adults, we should be able to solve this".
- Mobiles as torches. The Imperial War Museum of the North, or whatever it's called, turns the lights off repeatedly while they show some son-et-lumière, thus meaning all the blurb on the walls, which actually be more informative than the rumbling vox-pops from above, is legible only by the light of a cameraphone set to shoot negative images. Just think how much quicker some bits of the Crystal Maze would have been if they'd had a phone.
- IDing film of 5-greys (not sure yet). 20s hats [something that looks like 'melon claiming']. Looks French, no subtitles, .
- Needed to flirt with pilot more (at all) to get non-coach means of getting home.
- Teh Building. Having seen assorted building site hoardings with varying degrees of techspeak, txtspk and yootspeek I just wondered how long it will be before there is a building somewhere which includes 'Teh' in its name. Or possibly "O HAI!" on the front doors.
- Lowery light, lowering light. Much the same thing. Damp layered greys with the odd block of red. Mantaster gets it way before Loldom.
- NX hand-drier would.
- The second driver turned the coach into the school bus, via the medium of radio playing unheard-of seventies pop. Possibly bus drivers are the only people in the country to still use AM.
- Streets paved with gold [outside the probation office]. Photographic evidence to Flickr sometime in 2010 probably.
- I [heart] MCR. Official slogan.
- I [heart] MAN. More likely to sell, possibly more likely to be understood.
- I [heart] MEN. Best arena name ever.
- Turned to God because no one else would have them [more previous encounters than any current example].
- Warnings [I can't read this bit].
- Few things cannot be improved by sultanas, although this does move anything un-cake-like in to the category of curry.

And that's it for the notes. All that's missing is the art, the art of cakes, the art of war, the art of hammockery and the traditional Mosh Slide Saturday night entertainment of breaking into a car (declining the neighbour's knowledgeable offers of help. All one needs is a wire coat hanger, a curtain pole and some paper plates).

Oh and watching District 9 (good, though pre-LOTR murder while listening to the Archers work shows). And Die Hard 4.0 with an earnest warning for viewers of a sensitive disposition (I was good and squelched the scathing sarcasm).

And HWQ still hasn't sent me the carrot cake recipe. Or the muffins one.

Anyway, need to go now as much, much later and I'm late for a late lunch.

Anyhoo,