Monday July 26, 2004
Before I start on the day I must issue an “I’ve been had” for the GWB ‘quote’ yesterday. It was, as I half suspected, a fiction. It’s quite a relief, in a way, and I’m grateful to those who pointed me at the facts.
I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. It is, after all, American English that seems to be lacking a word for entrepreneur. Here in Britain we have wide-boy, spiv and Johnny-come-lately to name but a derogatory few. And there’s always Captain of Industry or Soldier of Fortune if needs be. Not to mention Merchant Adventurer.
Mind you, I have to say, all fact and no fiction would make for a unique politician. And an even stranger poet.
So, to the day… Nonedescript. Uncomfortable. A mite unpleasant in part—neighbour problems.
Hot, humid, and featureless. The energy had drained out of the day well before mid-morning, and took mine with it.
A minor attack of the bloats which, late in the evening, matured into a major attack.
One of our neighbours seems to have taken a dislike to us. Not sure if it’s occasioned by resentment but it does have all the characteristics of envy. On enquiry, all our other neighbours have been treated similarly, to greater or lesser degree. Nothing serious, but the situation warrants close monitoring.
Apart from these bald facts, I find myself scratching the bottom of the inspiration barrel, and the one that was filled with photographs is more store than storage, too.
Lackaday. When I was a young man and hit one of these kinds of day I’d dump my books in a corner, sling a few necessaries in a bag and hit the road, leaving a cheque for the rent on the way out. Sometimes I’d disappear for only a few days; now and again it’d be weeks on end. It was good therapy, and freedom of a sort.
Now I’m all grown up and responsible I feel obliged to stay home and stick it out. It’s fine and dandy, mostly, and it’s a freedom of another sort, too. Even so, there are times when I feel the young man had it better.
The colour of dusting