Nine Feet Underground

M'aider! m'aider! m'aider! (The above only fully makes sense on the 1st May, however, for reasons that will unfold below, a post on the first was not possible.) I was feeling positive and optimistic on the 30th April and in this euphoric state managed to hit my head very hard on a metal bar of my new shed.   I've hit my head on many occasions, so I never consider it to be a big deal.  This bit of headbanging was different.  I developed a powerful headache and started feeling nauseous.  Son #1 went through the checklist of things of serious concern, and I didn't really tick any of the boxes. Off to bed after taking some painkillers.  At 4am on May Day, I woke with a helluva headache and feeling distinctly unwell.  I woke son #1 up and we got a taxi to A&E.  Turns out I don't have any obvious signs of brain damage but do have a concussion.  The solution: painkillers and rest.  No caffeine. No alcohol.  No driving. No screen time. ...

Another busy start, and thus no walk. Again.  This is not good. Work will be busy today, more than usual because I have tomorrow off. As a direct consequence, I probably won't have much to say here. It's a busy day generally around the house, partly because son #2 and his gf are off to Vienna tomorrow and I will heading up to the big smoke for the Idler Festival . This week's poem is 'Symphony In Yellow' by Oscar Wilde, and it goes like this: An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge. Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay. The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter from the Temple elms, And at my feet the pale green Thames Lies like a rod of rippled jade. I generally like Oscar Wilde's writing, however this doesn't totally hot the spot for me, even though there is some excelle...

It's Friday, and thus the last day of the working week.  On the early morning huddle call, people (including the project manager) are commenting that it's great that it's almost the weekend.   It's a sentiment that I endorse, but equally I feel it's sad that people are wishing the bulk of their life away.  Perhaps it's just human nature to feel that way, no matter what you do, but I reckon some jobs provide more fulfilment and enjoyment than others do. It feels like we got something fundamentally wrong, way back when.  Life is short, all too short, so why do we spend our time on this earth in drudgery?  Smash the cistern! Down to work! Cripohit! Izzy wizzy... Unexpectedly, I'm off out to the pub tonight, to meet up with friends who are visiting from Berlin.  I think there'll be a big group as it's 'come one, come all' invitation.  Change of dinner plans, as I needed something quick and early so that I can catch a bus to the edge of the campus...

My first Saturday of total lockdown. No shopping trip today, which I was pretty glad of this morning, given the torrential rain that started the day. That also put paid to another tedious Saturday chore: I've not bothered to do washing given how wet it's been. Hopefully tomorrow will be better, though whatever happens I'll be washing. What have I done with all this extra time? For starters I watched an excellent National Theatre production of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Nights' Dream', which was two and a half hours long.  Some great acting, notably from the guy playing Puck/Robin Goodfellow, who played the character as a kind of punk, mischievous spirit. It has been interesting reading Emma Smith (author of the insightful book, 'This is Shakespeare: How to Read the World's Greatest Playwright') on the play.  In particular she says of Puck, 'In fact, Elizabethan ideas of Puck were far from this cheery, domesticated fairy trickster. Shakespea...