Day 352: Limelight

Foolish young lime

I have lost a lime.  I know I bought one, because I remember weighing it, and putting it in my bag.  Maybe it made a bid for escape on the way to the car.  Maybe I'm turning into a 'character' and I've put it somewhere ridiculous (fridge/under my pillow/sock drawer).  The issue is that I am in the middle of making a Thai green curry.  Limelessness is not an option. 

Experienced lime

In the fridge, I find the ancient corpse of a long-dead lime buried deep in the silt of the salad crisper.  Exhumed, it is an ugly sight.  Dull and leathery skin spotted with pestilent buboes.  I cut it and lick the surface cautiously (as all great chefs do).  The Spirit of The Lime remains!  I squeeze it quickly, before it has a chance to pass to the other side. 

Time Lime Team

A lime bought back from the brink.  A last chance.  A starring role. 

I cannot tell you how much joy this brings me.  Later I find the errant younger lime rolling around in the boot of the car.  I have placed it carefully in the salad crisper, where it can become older and wiser. 

 

Day 351: Bladder Kicking

Today is the first day that feels properly, winterly short.  I'm in a building in one of those crooked cobbled City backstreets, and by half three the afternoon light is fading.  In the gloom it's easy to imagine this old lane in bygone eras.  This is something I do a lot - all over the place, but particularly in the City.  Today it's a toss-up between medieval guild apprentices, kicking a pig's bladder through straw and shit, and the decorous promenading of Regency couples, all poke bonnets and buckskin breeches. 

Guild apprentices win, as I follow the imaginary bladder through the streets to the station.  The journey home is peppered with fireworks,  My hands are crabbed with cold.  I am wearing a poppy.  Yes, it is November

I realise that this it is a year since I started writing this.  Not really of any relevance, but I feel I should say it.  There is no plan or point to this blog.  It does not lead to the station. 

I'm just kicking the bladder around.   

Day 350: I Want You, Back

Wake to heavy rain, and the need for a Sunday paper.  Which means braving the heavy rain to walk up to the shops.  Normally I would nimbly dodge between the rain drops, but today my back still so immobile that I am shuffling like a pensioner, and making involuntary 'ooouff' noises. 

I convince myself that the walk will loosen things up.  It doesn't.  As I stiffly hobble across the road to the newsagent, I anticipate but am not fast enough to avoid the sheet of water kicked up by an impatient car.  Soaked in a mixture of rain-water, WKD and teenage vomit (we're right outside St Albans' premier 'nite spot'.)  Bad.  But a clear-cut opportunity for some classic fist-shaking.  Good.  

I can't wait for my back to return to me.  I will bend extravagantly.  Unnecessarily.  I will twist and lift, carelessly.   I will revel in the luxury of taking it for granted again. 

Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn't mean it
I just want you, Back, for good.

Day 349: Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

Who he?

In the supermarket the lad behind the till looks baffled, as my shopping travels towards him.   

Till Boy:  What is this?

Me:  A leek.

Till Boy:  A what?

Me:  A leek.  (Pause)  You're not a veg man, then?

Till Boy:  No...

(Time passes.  He's pretty proficient at scanning stuff with barcodes - cheese, oil etc.  Then we get to a bulb of garlic.  He puts it on the scales, and I see the lack of confidence.)

Me:  Garlic.

Till Boy:  Oh...  What's the difference between garlic and onion?

Me:  Same family.  Different taste. 



(Quite excited by this level of interest - could it be a turning point?  Will I be a vegetable Professor Higgins to his non-veg Eliza Doolittle?  I warm to my task.)

 

Me:  Also related to leeks.  All alliums.  (Then I catch his eye.)  Have you entered it as an onion?

 

Till Boy:  Yes.  It's coming up as 5p.  Is that OK?

 

Me:  I'm fine with it, if you are.

 

Know them

(Exit with criminally underpriced garlic bulb throbbing guiltily in my bag.)

I think it's fair to say that he does not know his onions. 

Day 348: Parable Overload

Laptop issue solved.  A 'static build-up' is the culprit, caused by proximity to a negatively-charged surface.  Apparently. 

Not powerless.  Too much absorbed energy of the wrong kind.  Trapped and leading to a malfunction.

Simple answer is to force a complete shut down, and then remove the battery.  Reinsert, switch on, equilibrium restored. 

I hear you.  Loud and clear.  Now please stop parabling me.

Day 347: Metaphorce Feeding

Powerless

Today my laptop refuses to boot up.  The power light is flashing, although everything is plugged in correctly, so I wonder if the cable is totalled.  I try a spare one.  Still no joy. 

Dust off the back-up laptop (again).  With a crank of the propeller, and the chocks removed, it gamely sputters into life.  Although I have to balance it on a couple of paperbacks to allow for undercarriage ventilation.  Only simple tasks can be undertaken.  Anything more triggers a terrible whining noise, which heralds an abrupt and non-negotiable shut-down.   



Pointless

Building on yesterday's metaphors, I realise I am now both spineless AND powerless. 

What will tomorrow bring?  Do I own a boat that could, perhaps, lose its rudder? 

There's one thing it will bring for sure.  A trip to PC World. 

Hooray.   

Day 346: Straws And Camels

Relentless in Milton Keynes.  A succession of rain, roundabouts, hotel coffee, and a steady stream of participants on back-to-back, overscribed sessions.  Barely time to wee, and no time to eat.  By the end of the day I am catatonic. 

Home to the receipt of some materials.  Incomplete, ill-considered, not fit-for-purpose.  For Monday, FFS.  When I will be either a) wearing the shame or b) using everything I have to get away with it.  Neither is a feel-good option, but in many ways, b) is the worst.  It's the one that comes at the greatest personal price, sucking up a huge amount of energy and leaving an unpleasant aftertaste.  Feel desolate inside.  Sleep does not come easy. 

Overnight, for the second time in my life, my back spasms.  I am left gingerly, carefully rigid.  This is not normal for me.  I have a strong back, and am pretty robust physically. 

After a day in Milton Keynes

Interesting that at the point where I reach a perceived limit mentally, my body decides to give me notice physically.  My friend Andrew would say that I am acting out.  Straws, camels, backs.  Loss of backbone.  Any number of metaphors. 

Appreciate the reminder.  When I get a physical note-to-self, I know that I've gone too far. 

Duly noted.