Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day (cleanskies) wrote,
Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day
cleanskies

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golden pheasants have white eyes

Sunday ends, and I'm coming back slowly from a long weekend of liver abuse and sunshine-and-rain, England in March giving me daffoidills and grape hyacincths, finally, from the claggy mud in my dark back garden. The glittering pyramid of CDRoms erected by a Fusion (the arts centre formerly known as Bloomin Arts) in Manzil Gardens is taking on a tattered air under the twin assault of spring gales and Bacardi Breezer bottles slung at it by bored underage clubbers. It still has what it takes to attract photographers and two-year-olds, though, and after dark it throws back the street lights in all the colours of the rainbow. I interrupted a man with a very big lens on Saturday to take five shots with my Tesco's value camera. As I left, apologised for getting in his way. "Not at all," he said, "You were a welcome addition." It's the big furry coat that does it. People stroke it, sometimes they ask first, sometimes they apologise first and sometimes they don't even notice what they're doing. "Is it real?" someone asked me, in the Zodiac. No, it's all in your mind.

Fetched up at Adrian's today, doing his and George's hair, responsibly stopping him being grey and her being ginger. Hennaing Adrian went OK-ish, not 100% happy with his temples (it's a very bright, light batch) but near disaster on George's hair when I put it on and realised it had gone the distinctive dark purple of dye gone off (the colour of most red home hair rinses in the 70s). It turned out she had bought it over a year ago on special offer -- quick, rinse it off! Thank god it didn't burn ... and I did rescue it after with another dye. I also put some pink over my fading-out black after my 3/4 hour shower when I got back from work on Friday. Work ...

Still thinking about tomorrow. I'm supposed to be going to work. I don't want to go. I get the feeling I'm going to lose this job/leave this job. As usual, when considering leaving a job, shot straight off to Amazon to spend money and remind myself why I need a job. Bought a Lemony Snicket book (a sort of popularist Dahl-Gorey cross) and some more fucked up Icelandic stuff as the thing I was looking for wasn't available.

Damn this. I'm going to look at YU's cutie dolls (pretty japanese doll photos with lovely englishish descriptions) until I want to sleep.

"Little Miss Dollikin is the doll which a joint curves to freely."
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