The traditional blog diatribe begins with two seemingly unrelated events, and brings them together with some more or less relevant narrative device. Let me here be no exception to that formula:
A random stumbling upon an advert online for Earth Hour, an hour in which the lights of cities across the globe are supposed to be switched off in a reminder of the supposed power of the people to make a difference, led to us sitting in our kitchen lit only by candles and the staunchly not-switched-off street lights outside ("what's a few dead due to road accidents in comparison to a ruined environment?" said somebody). This led us quite naturally to the idea of reading aloud to one another what each had been reading privately in the cosy story-telling shadows. This is a trend that has, to some degree, been extended into our normal electricity consuming lives. We've read newspaper articles, poems, short stories and bits of novels to one another, and I find it to be totally brilliant. It has that same appeal as has watching episode after episode of Family Guy on the laptop, in that you're entertained without having to do anything yourself, but it's somehow more... well, it's definitely different anyway. There's something necessarily communal about it, which seems to lend it a legitimacy that watching TV seems to lack.
Also this week, I've had one of those things that men seem to have, where their back suddenly decides it's had enough of doing whatever it is a back normally does, and is going instead to shoot the empty beer bottles of ones nervous system with the Colt 45 of unexpected twinges and seize up in the process, forming some kind of unbending kebab skewer of hot, slicing pain. To cut a long story short, I've done my back in. This has led to previously unscheduled periods of lying on the sofa, standing aimlessly in the kitchen, and walking gingerly about clutching my lower back, like a late-in-the-term pregnant woman. This has had various unexpected pleasant consequences however. Firstly and foremostly, I've been forced to think of things to do that don't involve going anywhere or moving in any serious way. I've read the Süddeutscher Zeitung from cover to cover, and also a great deal of my hilarious novel, always either standing propped up against the fridge or lying on the sofa with the afternoon sun shining through the window. I've also found the time to finally paint letters in the German Scrabble distribution on the back of my Bananagram tiles (see photo) and in the process have discovered that the name of the game is supposed to be pronounced with an american accent, making it rhyme with "anagrams", making the name a rather clever pun, rather than the confusing nonsense it is when said in a British accent (try it yourself!).
Anyway, the point of all this rambling, is that sometimes going without something (electricity, motor skills) can lead to inventive ways of having fun. And no one can accuse me of not being interested in that.
Yours stiffly,
Rob
A random stumbling upon an advert online for Earth Hour, an hour in which the lights of cities across the globe are supposed to be switched off in a reminder of the supposed power of the people to make a difference, led to us sitting in our kitchen lit only by candles and the staunchly not-switched-off street lights outside ("what's a few dead due to road accidents in comparison to a ruined environment?" said somebody). This led us quite naturally to the idea of reading aloud to one another what each had been reading privately in the cosy story-telling shadows. This is a trend that has, to some degree, been extended into our normal electricity consuming lives. We've read newspaper articles, poems, short stories and bits of novels to one another, and I find it to be totally brilliant. It has that same appeal as has watching episode after episode of Family Guy on the laptop, in that you're entertained without having to do anything yourself, but it's somehow more... well, it's definitely different anyway. There's something necessarily communal about it, which seems to lend it a legitimacy that watching TV seems to lack.
Also this week, I've had one of those things that men seem to have, where their back suddenly decides it's had enough of doing whatever it is a back normally does, and is going instead to shoot the empty beer bottles of ones nervous system with the Colt 45 of unexpected twinges and seize up in the process, forming some kind of unbending kebab skewer of hot, slicing pain. To cut a long story short, I've done my back in. This has led to previously unscheduled periods of lying on the sofa, standing aimlessly in the kitchen, and walking gingerly about clutching my lower back, like a late-in-the-term pregnant woman. This has had various unexpected pleasant consequences however. Firstly and foremostly, I've been forced to think of things to do that don't involve going anywhere or moving in any serious way. I've read the Süddeutscher Zeitung from cover to cover, and also a great deal of my hilarious novel, always either standing propped up against the fridge or lying on the sofa with the afternoon sun shining through the window. I've also found the time to finally paint letters in the German Scrabble distribution on the back of my Bananagram tiles (see photo) and in the process have discovered that the name of the game is supposed to be pronounced with an american accent, making it rhyme with "anagrams", making the name a rather clever pun, rather than the confusing nonsense it is when said in a British accent (try it yourself!).
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| The fruits of my labour. The nail polish remover and filthy rag were used to correct the many mistakes. |
Anyway, the point of all this rambling, is that sometimes going without something (electricity, motor skills) can lead to inventive ways of having fun. And no one can accuse me of not being interested in that.
Yours stiffly,
Rob
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| What does RL stand for? Because he can't sit down: me writing this blog entry |
Dude! Are you taking anti-inflammatories? Go see a physio!
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