I’m already having one of the most stressful days of my life, when the phone on my desk rings and our imperturbable elderly receptionist says “there’s someone to see you” in dulcet tones that sound like she got sleeping sickness in 1920 and is just getting around to waking up. (She is *lovely* though.) At which point I remember that the also-lovely, batshit mental Lunch PR team were meant to be sending someone over to see me, though they wouldn’t say who.
So, leaving my oft-interrupted writing with a rueful glance, I grabbed the lift down and emerging from the darkened corridor I saw a small figure in a pointy brown cape… “Oh no”, thinks my stressed, tired brain “They can’t have. They wouldn’t. Not in this day and age. ” A look at the serried smiling faces of the PR team, laden down with cupcakes convinced me they had. Not a famous one, not one in character, just a normal dwarf. Dressed as a hobbit.
When I moved flat on wednesday, I neglected to bring a duvet or pillows. I also forgot I’d left my sleeping bag with Maria in Bath. Hence, since then, I’ve been sleeping in the nud, as is my wont, with the window wide open and no covering. The neighbours must have had an eyeful…
Surprisingly, I caught a cold. I am now sick as a dead parrot. Well, not quite.
However, this has allowed me to explore my surroundings today, now I’ve recovered a bit. I’ve been hacking back the weeds in the garden and I sat down and thought “ah, back to nature.” Then I looked around and tried to spot the nature. Fence? No. Stone flags? Machined, no. Gravel? Nah? Plants? All ornamental, bred for man. Weeds? Thriving on man’s by-product. Sunlight by which I see the world? Filtered through poisoned atmosphere and glasses covered with dust & dead skin… hum.
I’m going back inside, where I can be near comfortable artificiality.
(Seriously, the gardens brilliant. You’re all invited whenever you want to come and have beer & barbie. That includes the stalkers, mkay?)