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Can't concentrate on the updates. Weather too bright outside. Sky too blue.

Woke up this morning from some sort of horrible dream of being a horrible scrawny black thing half burned to death. I wanted to get up, but just kept lying there rotting, quivering, choking. Woke up and my throat was agony, outside the window a starling was singing a medley of computer game noises. He was quite good, actually. Cheered me up until I tried talking. Coughing. Choking.

Does anyone know if octopus travel is a good way to book hotels? Go on, tell me a horror story ...

Which reminds me, last week, faced with three tables marked as owned with bags or coats at the coffee shop, I sat dawn at the largest table and slowly watched the queue dissolve and no-one come over to share with an affronted stare. I glanced around, wondering if the bulky rucksack I was sat next to had been lost or left behind. I decided to finish my coffee and see if they came back for it ... at which point a young man sitting nearby slipped up to the table and retrieved it without making eye contact. Bloody psychology students, I muttered, assuming they'd been doing an occupied space study for kicks; how far my instincts have dropped off since the early 90s ...

Sunny enough for lunch outside today (unfurl). So the yard behind Mortons Broad Street, where most of the shrubs had been cut down to earth and all the ivy ripped away. (Spring cleaning? Building work? A really brutal prune?) The usual robin was nowhere to be seen; a single traumatised blackbird was crouched under the last remaining bush, singing softly to himself. I fed him scraps of bread and mustard which he snatched before scooting back under cover to eat, twittering under his breath between beakfuls.

Damian found an egg-shell on the bike shed this morning.


( 7 worms — Feed the birds )
30th Mar, 2004 07:52 (UTC)
A nightmare not a horror story
I woke up at about 4 or 5 am from a dream where a bunch of us (Andy R, Third Dan, yourself, no Damian for some reason) were talking perfectly normally and getting ready to go somewhere, but then suddenly everyone was gone apart from Jamie who had short hair and an air of oddly threatening solid calm. I knew he was going to attack me when I was alone and I went out into the corridor to shout 'Don't leave me!', but the only one in sight was an unknown girl who continued down the corridor without paying any attention to me at all.

At least there was no reflection in real life, unlike your throat. Bummer for you & commis.
30th Mar, 2004 09:12 (UTC)
Re: A nightmare not a horror story
maybe Jamie'd already got Damian. (scream!)

My throat's a sort of constant irritation at the moment. This morning wasn't so bad -- no blood, at least.
30th Mar, 2004 09:23 (UTC)
Not affected by all the warnings about reporting unattended bags and packages, then? :)
2nd Apr, 2004 02:31 (UTC)
I did consider moving to another seat ...
But then I looked at the size of the bag and realised it wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference (assuming it was a bomb) so didn't.

If it had still been unclaimed by the time I'd finished my coffee, I would have handed it in.
30th Mar, 2004 12:26 (UTC)
There was a bird outside my window singing like my alarm clock the other day. or, it could actually have been my alarm clock, i suppose.
2nd Apr, 2004 02:29 (UTC)
maybe you shouldn't keep your alarm clock on your windowsill ...
30th Mar, 2004 12:58 (UTC)
I don't think I've ever seen the word 'beakfuls' written before. It's a lovely new little word to my eyes, and I don't even need to look it up in the dictionary. Beakfuls.
( 7 worms — Feed the birds )