Today, thats Monday, Ive been mostly sitting in one recliner chair watching SENSE8 on NETFLIX, and YOUTUBE on the laptop, with just one hobble around midday to the kitchen for a cuppa, and just now to get some fresh air in the back garden. This proved to be not the simplest thing. Wifey has put two dustbins on the path ready to take out later for Tuesdays dustmen to empty, so it became an obstacle course squeezing between them and the border which, at just that point, contains a couple of very tall flowery plants, and they contained a couple of bees. Last time I was stung by a black and yellow stripey thing my hand enlarged to gross proportions so, not wanting to risk being stung , they became part of the obstacle course. I didnt want to add to my current woes for obvious reasons.
Everything happens for a reason and that last paragraph contained the word “dustmen”. This term is no longer used, but Im not sure what the official term is these days. Bin men? Garbage engineers became quite fashionable a few years ago but, thankfully, that seems to have been dropped because, after all, they arent engineers. I usually find myself stuck behind one of the trucks once a week. This elicits mixed feelings. If I have no customer but am on my way to a fair I get a little vexed as it may make me late. If I have a fair then of course the meter goes into “timed” mode and continues to charge my client for the joy of watching men pushing trollies around and pressing a button. As I watch these guys I admire how fit they must be as they run all the time. But then my mind wanders back to my childhood when we had galvanised steel bins that they not only had to carry on their backs and physically empty into the truck, but they also fetched them from and returned them to the rear yard, unlike today where if the bins are not on the path they get left. In those days the bins were called dustbins. This is because we had coal fires and put the ashes into the dustbins. I mention this because when you have an injury like this and can only sit around and think, one is reminded of ones mortality and thats when nostalgia sets in, like a calming balm. Happy memories.
Things happening for a reason makes me wonder if I should give up cycling for exercise. This is the second time Ive come a cropper on the bike and Ive been thinking that maybe its an omen……………third time might NOT be lucky.
Im a bit of an omenist, or fatalist, as it happens. Like the way I was attracted, for the first time, to abstract paintings in the lufbra uni degree show. Its inspired me. I noticed the other day that I already have a few abstracts so maybe its time to do even more. I used to think that they were easy, as opposed to figuration, but actually a good abstract is terribly difficult, and I do like to challenge myself.
I wore my kilt to the lufbra show. Nobody said anything. No funny looks. So of course its going to be the same at DMU. Except it may be a diferent one as today I ordered a new kilt. My first kilt was the PRIDE OF SCOTLAND tartan, nice subdued purples and greens but this one is ROYAL STEWART. Mostly bright red. Im not sure if a tartan not associated with any clan is more acceptable to Scots or not, but of course the PRIDE tartan is generic and as the Queen is head of her clan, and as Queen she is head of my national clan (as explained more succinctly to me by Amanda Macintyre Ure) then I feel Im within my rights to sport that tartan. Eventually I will get kilts simply because I like the tartan and not care about silly clanships. I particularly the DOUGLAS BLUE. Im not sure this is a clan tartan or generic as its offered for sale in the same places as the aformentioned two. Of course, appearing at DMU in any kilt is reliant on my being able to drive and then to walk around the place. At this moment in time Im merely living in hope.
And thats all we can ever do in life isnt it, hope?
Love all, hurt none and walk in soft shoes