A rainy day in Mill Hill town
Had me low had me down.
I viewed the morning with alarm;
Working at home had lost its charm.
How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
But the age of miracles hadn’t passed,
For suddenly I saw you there
And through rainy Mill Hill town
The sun was shining ev’rywhere
(with apologies to George and Ira Gershwin)
The only person I can see here is Shadow the cat.
My computer has gone to sleep, I hope I can post this before it falls over. It’s doing that thing where things shut down very slowly. I sing “The Keel Row” while it does this because it’s the right speed and it echoes the herky-jerky motion of the picture on the screen as the application closes: DOWN-stop, DOWN-stop (try singing it and you’ll see what I mean). Trance, it isn’t.
And above the strident hiss of tinnitus (aka “that bloody racket”) I can hear the washing machine running downstairs. I have no choice but to run into the street, grab the first person I see, and tell them about the wonder that has befallen me.
But as I pass the kitchen door, I notice that the washing machine isn’t on. I go back upstairs and do a bit more of that day job stuff they pay me for. A few minutes later, I pause, and I can hear the machine again. Another trip downstairs confirms that neither the cat, a poltergeist nor anyone else has switched it on. Who needs a step aerobic class?
This happens on and off all morning, interrupting my day job stream of consciousness. I have to assume this is some kind of auditory equivalent of a phantom limb pain, caused by the fact that today is unusual in that the laundry basket was not impacted with filthy duds by 5.30 am so I didn’t need to put the machine on.
Working from home – I have managed to procrastinate quite a lot today. I have been writing instead of day jobbing. The latest story, now at draft 7. I doubt whether this is going to be a lucky number though.
Then when I’d done that, I tried to find a music file of the Israeli song “Sharm el Sheikh”, to send to a colleague who is planning to visit the place. Not that she asked me to, but that never stops me. All I could find was a midi with a rotten accompaniment to the melody, if she still wants to go after hearing that then she must be really keen. If some more annoying work comes in I will translate the words and send her that, too. Stalker? Well, only from 9-5.
I have just sent off my another writing competition entry. The last one got nowhere. I tell myself it was too quirky. The closing date for the last competition passed two weeks ago. Perhaps if I stop this, it’ll have the same benefits as stopping banging my head on the wall.
All my stories have initial working titles, then they get real titles. That one was known to me as “Perky Scouse Girls”, and that’s all I’m saying for now. The next competition closes in the middle of March. Time to close “Perky Scouse Girls” v8 now, computer permitting: all together now:
As I came thro’ Sandgate, thro’ Sandgate, thro’ Sandgate…
Now start another story: Racism v1.