January 2011
Happy New Year
Hey, Americans! We Englishers are beta testing 2011 for you.
Latest results: 2011 is OK so far. Also, full of wine.
Come on in, the water’s lovely.
December 2010
Ah, but you, north London suburbs, are also kind of nice. I suppose. If you like that sort of thing. With your neat front lawns and 4-wheel drive BMWs and bird tables all lit orange by streetlamps festooned with Neighbourhood Watch signs.
You’re OK, north London suburbs. If you like that sort of thing. I guess.
Oh, Thames river. You are so lovely at night, with your buildings and walks and bridges lit up like this. Even the towering cranes and webs of deserted scaffolding, spotlit pale with halogen, look graceful.
I love you, London.
Oh, Thames river. You are so lovely at night, with your buildings and walks and bridges lit up like this. Even the towering cranes and webs of deserted scaffolding, spotlit pale with halogen, look graceful.
I love you, London.
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Swear to god, I talk more to cats and dogs and broken statues of boys’ heads and other inanimate objects than I do to people sometimes.
Not sure if I should be worried about this.
Swear to god, I talk more to cats and dogs and broken statues of boys’ heads and other inanimate objects than I do to people sometimes.
Not sure if I should be worried about this.
Genius
Cutting my own hair after three days spent almost constantly inebriated and/or in a food coma, and after having had two large glasses of Bucks Fizz for breakfast?
WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?
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Hands: how do they work?
You know the lovely cartoon Mark Doesn’t Understand Animals? You love it as much as I do, right? This isn’t anything to do with that. It just made me think that a cartoon of my life might be titled Justine Doesn’t Understand Hands, because I was just sending a text message and the phone started slipping through my fingers and any normal person would grip it harder but I just sort...
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I've just been told I have tomorrow off work as...
Not sure what I should do with myself. How about:
Sleep
Eat
Read
Nap
Walk on beach
Nap
Potter about a bit
Panic about Christmas
Christmas shopping
Eat
Ale
Sleep
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I've just been told I have tomorrow off work as...
Not sure what I should do with myself. How about:
Sleep
Eat
Read
Nap
Walk on beach
Nap
Potter about a bit
Panic about Christmas
Christmas shopping
Eat
Sleep
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Is that or is that not the prettiest song known to humans?
Prettiest, not most beautiful. There’s a difference.
Think on that while I go for my data meeting.
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Is that or is that not the prettiest song known to humans?
Prettiest, not most beautiful. There’s a difference.
Think on that while I go for my data meeting.
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Happy happy joy joy
I’ve just found out that I have Christmas Eve off work. All day.
This might be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Or at least the best thing in the last hour.
Oh wait. There was that mince pie earlier. That was pretty awesome.
Happy happy joy joy
I’ve just found out that I have Christmas Eve off work. All day.
This might be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Or at least the best thing in the last hour.
Oh wait. There was that mince pie earlier. That was pretty awesome.
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6. Half-Life
It won’t stop snowing. And then freezing. And then snowing again.
The buses all have their socks on though, so they work. Which means I have to.
My street was like a luge track this morning. I clung to the railings all the way down the hill to stop myself falling on my bum. The grey-haired woman who lives across the street was standing on the pavement under the beech tree, shivering and...
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6. Half-Life
It won’t stop snowing. And then freezing. And then snowing again.
The buses all have their socks on though, so they work. Which means I have to.
My street was like a luge track this morning. I clung to the railings all the way down the hill to stop myself falling on my bum. The grey-haired woman who lives across the street was standing on the pavement under the beech tree, shivering and...
“I believe that basically you write for two people; yourself to try to make it...”
– Ernest Hemingway (the epigraph to Gerald Murnane’s Inland)