June 9th, 2006

shiny bogpic

springwatch and summerwatch

Just got startled by the most amazing rustling sound from outside; it was Plane tree leaves, blowing down the road. I guess the dry spell already has them shrivelling and shedding. Roll on the thunderstorms. One was promising last night, but never materialised, and I just slumped there, feeling hotter and more horrid, watching episodes of One Piece and cringing at the Hamiltons' football song and Jeremy Clarkson looking a bit slow on last week's Have I got news for you. I probably should have watched the Cow woman documentary afterwards instead, but I had Five Disasters Waiting to Happen all cued up and waiting. Looking at those four grim dolphins of the eco-apocalypse, heat, storms, rain and rising sea levels, taking on London, Paris, Mumbai, Shanghai, and Tuvalu*. What struck me was that though the climatologists comcerned were very different in some ways, they all (even the rabidly upbeat one overseeing Shaghai's flood management) had a similar demeanor; no smiles from their set jaws, an expression between solid determination sad resignation, a greyness of skin and shadowed VDU eyes -- I suppose that, from Tuvalu's whitewashed shed to the Thames Flood Barrier's glass offices, they're all basically doing the same thing: making models and running them again and again, seeing what drowns. Trying to get used to the chilling inevitability.

I took the stream route to the bus-stop and that Grey Wagtail scolded me again (calm down! it's a public path!) -- further along there were fledgling Blue Tits in the Willow tree, gettting used to that whole flying around thing, cheeping away and generally being unbearably cute -- and, unfortunately, down on the path, a rather rough-looking young Blackbird who didn't have it figured out. Probably on his way out. It's a tough life, being a blackbird in the suburbs.

I'm thinking about how morally justifiable it is to water my plants and shrubs. On the one hand, it'll really improve the environment of my garden (currently rather bleak) for wildlife. On the other hand, every morning this week I've been walking past the pipe inspection men, sat in the back of their white van staring at greyscale images of pipes receding into blackness, trying to figure out where Thames Water's water is going.

*Collapse )
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    I dont know! Curse you, i-pod shuffle!

a semi-successful lunch-hour

Not that I want to give the impression that I only just got back from lunch, mind. If only. Damn, it's so hot ...

So the watch-mending lady couldn't find a tongue large enough to mend my broken buckle on my amazing plane watch which I would show you all but, heck, no camera ... never mind, though, I've managed a fix using one of those smooth twist-ties electronics come confined by. It's quite comfy.

In the coffee room someone had left mugs soaking. On the the skin that had formed on the brownish fluid in one of them, the sun was catching an oilslick rainbow. I thought (for about the 53rd time this week) shit, no camera, then resolved to stop whining and do something about it in my lunch hour. I found something small, not covered with random protruberances and marginally aesthetic; however, it was cagey about battery power. I actually had to dig down to the manual to find the killer phrase "batteries may last for a very short time" but it was there alright. Why do companies bother making cameras cheap by removing the batteries? It's just annoying. But on the bright side I've not spent £99 I don't really have to spare.

Not only succeeded in taking a deep breath and visiting Lush, but found a new shampoo bar called Hard especially for rough and unmanageable hair in harsh, mineralised water. It's pink and daffodil yellow! Then a cheery staff member attacked me with a massage bar I'd always assumed was one of their cloying chocolate thingies but actually was delicately scented* with lemon and geranium! After giving me a brief forearm massage (the web editor's favourite!) she passed me over to the till where I was given free salt scrub and told I'd spent, oh, about as much as I'd just spent on a small quantity of sunscreen at Boots. As I left, the massage bar madam was plastering one of the other staff with gold body-glitter, both were giggling like maniacs. I swear, they must force feed their staff prozac. And surgically remove their sense of smell.

oh sigh

I forgot earlier to post this. It's another of the unfinished strips, this time from October last year. Being from the Under the Ice sequence, it's unlikely to make much sense, even if you read it in context, as the sequel to Saturday's Child, and, prior to that, Sisyphus. I should just treat is as an expression of why I like my expensive and beautiful inks so much -- as this is a 100% traditional media strip, straight scan. No digital additions at all. I didn't even correct the smudge in the bottom panel. And ooh, oh, those are pretty colours.

*Yes, hard to believe, I know.
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    me and the minibar - dresden dolls