Some birds from yesterday:
Taking photos of birds is one of the few things I enjoy.
After visiting Birdland I made like a penguin and got in the river, along with everybody else:
Too hot to think, eat or move. I stayed on the sofa.
Today's Photo: Coolio
Today I stroked a penguin, made eye contact with an owl, stared down a cassowary and said "kia ora, bro" to a kea.
I went here:
There are about 400 photos on my camera from my weekend away and I think when I review them most of them are going to be of birds.
Today's Photo: Home By A Different River
A pleasant day. My relatives are a nice bunch.
Now I have another night in the van lined up. I've popped in to Goring to say hi to the River Thames but will most likely move on, even though it's literally perfect here with free parking and a 24/7 public toilet and even free wifi out here on the steps of the library.
Fresh fields and all that.
Today's Photo: Stay Happy
I am at the Travelodge!
This is getting to be a habit.
We're having a family meet-up tomorrow in Reading so I decided to come down early.
A nice soak in a hot bath in the morning will help with the nerves. It's always quite stressful seeing my family.
Today's Photo: Hello Darkness My Old Friend
Some cool things:
Stonehenge by Markus Georg:
Furry Mona Lisa by Murat Yıldırım:
White Noise American Prayer Rug by Nicholas Galanin:
Simon Menner's images from the secret Stasi archives.
Tanja Jeremić's Tumblr.
Pretty much anything by Nina Katchadourian.
Sign Here Please: a memoir of autograph hunting and obsession.
All I did today was watch DVDs. DVDs are, along with books, on the purge list; I have way too many and I need to shift a few.
I remember when you just went to the cinema, saw the film, walked out at the end and that was that. The film was consigned to memory, or maybe not, and that was fine. If something was really good maybe you went and saw it a few times more. This arrangement did not feel in any way detrimental. I did not have a burning desire to keep all the films (or the gigs, or the TV programmes); it wouldn't even have occurred to me to want to. You just saw stuff, and that stuff was ephemeral, which made the truly great stuff feel even more precious (looking at you, The Young Ones).
But suddenly I notice I have about 50 DVDs and I'm not sure why. They're all things I've loved in the past, but why do I feel the need to possess them now? Especially when pretty much everything is online? I can't find a good answer to this question.
They've got to go. However, I do have a burning desire to watch all these DVDs one last time before I throw them out. This represents an awful lot of man-hours, so bang goes the rest of July. Over the last two days I've seen Good Will Hunting, Globe on Screen's Twelfth Night, Groundhog Day, Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure, Silence of the Lambs and Gregory's Girl. All brilliant. All remain brilliant, whether I own the DVD or not.
Today's Photo: Fly Fly Fly Clarice
A tweet - can't find it now - said something like 'the first two words printed on the name of the last thing you drank out of is the name of your 80s pop group'.
Checks out - my water glass has Arc 19 embossed on the bottom:
Spent the day reading some (well, one) of my books. The best thing about excessive secondhand book buying is harvesting all the forgotten bookmarks.
Today's Photo: Look At This Beauty
Another hectic day but for a different reason - we had an all-house electrical safety inspection, so I needed to get my flat tidy enough to let another human being see it.
There's only been one other person in here since October 2019 and that was a Plusnet engineer who stuck his head round the door last September, said, 'nope, we can't put a line in here,' and then left.
So the flat was quite messy.
I was up at 8am to do dishes, dust, hoover, strip the bed ready to take the bedding to the launderette, pull a bookcase away from the wall so the electrician could get to the fuse box, sweep the kitchen floor, polish the microwave and the electric hob, sweep the dustballs off the skirting boards, and clean the shower. Phew.
Thank god he started on the ground floor and worked his way up and not vice versa.
I was at the launderette by the time he got to my flat, and when I came back he'd gone and the only sign he'd been here was a sticker (with a grammatical error so painful I'm going to have to move) stuck to the fuse box to say it had been inspected.
As the bookcase was still in the middle of the room, I took the opportunity to peruse what was on it, make an inventory, and see if there were any books I could stand to lose. I'd been stung by the landlord saying, when he knocked to remind me that the sparky was coming, "You've got a lot of stuff in here."
He says this every time he visits and it's VERY irritating - where else am I supposed to put it? I live here. Unless there's a limit on the amount of possessions people who can only afford to live in poky rented bedsits are allowed? Maybe there is. This is Conservative Britain in 2021 after all.
He also mentioned he was going to put the rent up. Hurray. The reason being, he was out of pocket from all these new five-yearly electrical safety inspections the council have cruelly and outrageously imposed on him, the poor lamb. Won't somebody think of the landlords?
To be fair, what I pay here is well below market rate even after an increase; but come the revolution, when it's time to eat the rich, this guy should worry.
Anyway. The books. I started a spreadsheet and recorded titles, authors, whether or not I've read it, and whether it's fiction or non-fiction. I stopped at 200. The stats:
> 51 fiction; 149 non-fiction.
> 57 read; many, many more (not counted) dipped into and then abandoned, usually because it was too wonderful and I wanted to read that boring one first then come back to this one later. For shame.
> 45 so far removed for disposal.
> 2 unexpected duplicates, including (I shit you not) The Life-Changing Magic Of Tidying by Marie Kondo.
There is another bookcase to do tomorrow and also the bookcase in the van (gotta have a small portable library with you while driving, right?).
The War on Stuff is ON.
Today's Photo: Egregious It's
It took about 15 minutes to drive home from the hotel this morning.
Since then it's been one of those days where I've just put my head down and got on with stuff - tidying up and chucking stuff out, mostly, because I'm starting to realise I need to move on from Cardiff. I'm bored and stale and dead here. I want to go.
I got to grips with that drawer - you know the one, the one where you bung everything you don't know what to do with. Deep breath and repeat the mantra, "It's okay to throw things away, Weez." The drawer is now a lot more organised than it was this morning. Still can't bring myself to throw away old shoelaces though.
Then I backed a load of things up on Dropbox and onto CD-Rs because I'm old school and I prefer actual physical things; went through old USBs to delete stuff no longer needed; stuck things in scrapbooks; started another bag for the charity shop; tidied the desk. Threw away a load of loyalty cards from places I've only ever been to once; sorted out my stationery. At some point in the last decade I've stopped needing blu tac - an unexpected by-product of middle age. Discovered I have a hundred thousand pens. Can't throw them away either - useful things be useful.
It feels - I feel - better, lighter. I hope to god this Get Things Done mood continues into the rest of the week.
Marcus Rashford's tweet today made me well up. He's a truly great person with nothing to be sorry for. I love him, everybody loves him, except for Brexity arsehole racist wankers who can go fuck themselves. My heart goes out to him and the other kid who missed after having been subbed on just a couple of minutes previously; it was most definitely not their fault England lost that match.
*looks sternly at Gareth Southgate*
Anyway I wasn't going to talk about the football.
Finito.
Today's Photo: Hi-Tech Lo-Tech
PS It's in the bin now but what are these called? The internet thinks they're called 'fortune tellers' but in my half century alive I never heard a human being call them that; in fact I never heard a human being call them anything. I always refer to them as >>does the hand movements<<
No regrets about my micro-holiday at all.
I mooched about Mumbles last night, slept in the van like a proper nomad, walked on the Wales Coastal Path this morning, then enjoyed an afternoon and evening of televised sport like a normal person.
Wimbledon was wonderful, I love the tennis. Kind of wanted the handsome Italian bloke to win, but was happy for Djokovic, he deserved it. The mixed doubles final was a fine match too.
I haven't supported England this century, so the football result was richly comic. I have a theory about Gareth Southgate and penalties which I won't go into here.
Vive la Travelodge.
Today's Photo: Feet Up And Loving It
More prevarication. Ever since I realised the men's singles Wimbledon final and the Euros final fell on the same day, I've been wondering whether or not to book the cheapest hotel possible for Sunday night so I could watch them.
Explainer: I don't have a telly at home nor a TV licence, don't like illegally watching stuff online, feel unable to invite myself round to anyone's house to watch there, and wild horses couldn't drag me to a pub or any other public place full of potentially germy humans.
The finger's been hovering over the 'Book' button since yesterday; I've added and removed that £25 Travelodge room to the basket countless times.
I wasn't sure what the problem was. Did I just not want to watch Wimbledon or the Euros? These things were once sacred to me. I'm still not recovered from Euro 96. But now it felt like I didn't really care either way.
But then, when I tried to go out this morning for groceries, it was a genuine struggle to get out the door. It came to mind that I hadn't left the flat since Tuesday. Not leaving the flat tends to ramp up the agoraphobia. I learned this the hard way during 2020.
If it's purely anxiety that's holding me back, then bollocks to that. One has, as they say, to feel the fear and do it anyway. I forced myself out, bought groceries, had a browse in a couple of charity shops, felt better for it, came home and booked the hotel room.
I'm now packing for a night away in the van this evening too, because there's no point having a stealth camper if you don't use it; this is also something I've become frightened of doing.
Let's have a 2021 baptism of fire please.
I thought I'd head to Swansea, maybe for a cycle along the seafront.
Maybe I'll come home after, maybe I'll brave it out. No matter. Going out right now is definintely a good idea because Bongo Guy has just turned up on the rec.
Ciao bambinos, wish me luck.
Today's Photo: RH FUR
Someone's playing bagpipes in the park, directly opposite the house. Cool, no biggie. This is Wales, it's 10pm; entirely normal, nothing to see here.
Found some clarity overnight - woke up knowing it would be a massive mistake not to carry on with the degree if I'm allowed to carry on studying remotely (am still waiting to hear about that).
If I dropped out of uni and then didn't immediately relocate to New Zealand, I'd just go back to the job I grew tired of about five years ago. Why move backwards into something old and stale when a new opportunity has presented itself, one that will usher in freshness and change? It's madness even to consider it.
With these positive thoughts in mind, I checked emails while eating breakfast. Here was the monthly newsletter from the head of the art school I went to in New Zealand in 2004. Full of inspiring tips and interesting tangents, it's always an excellent read. Today it discussed Marcel Duchamp and how the Impressionists ushered in modern art, which tied in perfectly with a book I'm halfway through, John Higgs' Stranger Than We Can Imagine.
Is the book available in New Zealand, I wondered? Should I send it to this guy? He'd find it interesting - it talks about the exact same stuff, just from a slightly different perspective.
I carried on reading. And nearly choked on my banana on toast.
Underneath figure 2 (Duchamp), illustrating Dadaism, was figure 3 (me):
Woah. I was not expecting THAT.
The image is a tiny part of a collage I made during induction week. We were each given a huge piece of mounting board, the freedom of the magazine cupboard, and a working title: Where You Are In Your Life Right Now And Where You'd Like To Be.
Here's the whole thing:
It made sense at the time. Sadly, I had to bin it in 2008 when I moved from Wellington to Invercargill because my worldly goods didn't all fit into my car.
At the session where we presented our collages to the group, this man had found mine so fascinating he not only filmed it/me for a special presentation at the end of the week (he didn't ask if I wanted to be filmed and I still haven't forgiven him for thrusting me into the spotlight like that), he also nicked a bit of it to use in his book:
In other news, I watched La Haine tonight for the first time. It's very good - intelligent, angry, suspenseful, beautiful to look at and unexpectedly funny. Soundtrack's not too shabby either.
Today's Photo: Jusqu'ici Tout Va Bien
Another B&B day - books and bed. I'm having a really hard time getting going again after all the activity at the start of the week.
I think this might be because I'm very close to having to make The Decision. The boss from the job I took a year's sabbatical from has been emailing, and she needs to know what my plans are for September.
Quit the job? Return to study? Leave the country?
Who knows?
Not me.
Today's Photo: Dinner (Vegetables For Once)
Something something football. There was a lovely analysis of Three Lions doing the rounds today.
I didn't watch the England v Denmark game, but I did read people's reactions to it on Twitter. This is my preferred way to follow major events, mainly because it's more entertaining. There is emotion, information, and jokes. In between football tweets, there are pets and other nice things. Everybody thinks Gareth Southgate is a lovely man. Somebody said, "if I was sports, I would simply win." It makes a pleasant change from reading about the latest series of abominable decisions by the UK government.
The weekend away was fantastic; it was so good to be on the move again. I liked it so much I'm now thinking I ought to do the Thames Path Extension, the North Bank London bit (I went south), and the whole thing again but in the other direction.
Yesterday I cycled to Penarth to catch up with a woman I used to work with. She's been sending me texts ever since May 2020 asking if I'd like to get a coffee, so I thought I should finally humour her. She just reinforced my belief that neurotypicals are weird.
Today I just took it really easy, reading books, snoozing and sending a few emails. I also had my final session with the counsellor. That woman was a breath of fresh air; what a wonder she was. Telling me the scores from my anxiety and depression questionnaires she said I was measurably in a better state than when we started, but I already knew that because I wouldn't have been able to organise a weekend away otherwise.
I finally got the feedback on the last essay too. It was glowing. It was better than glowing. I feel like a fraud.
Today's Photo: Pyjama Views
It always takes time to readjust after I've been away and I haven't caught up with myself yet.
So today's photo is going to be the one I've just taken from right here on the sofa, and I'll start again properly with the blog tomorrow.
What a view:
Had a much better day today, poodling around doing chores which then morphed into pre-pack, my well honed preparation stage for every trip I take.
Pre-pack involves getting everything straight in my head, down to the last tiny detail, of what to bring. I'm only going to be away for one night so in this instance it's very little - just a change of clothes, wash stuff, my walking hat and an anorak unfortunately as the forecast is not good.
Also: a book to read, the tablet, the camera, a charger, an MP3 player (because I don't have a smartphone), a notebook, my diary, two pens, suncream (just in case), a packed lunch, spare shoes (also just in case), noise cancelling earplugs, first aid kit, a deck of cards and three different pairs of glasses.
I like to be prepared for every eventuality.
The bus leaves Cardiff at 10am tomorrow. I've booked a ticket for the National Gallery in the afternoon, and then after that I'll meander across town to the hotel.
On Monday, I'll be doing the short section of the Thames Path that I missed when I walked it before - I didn't realise the Path crossed over to the other bank at Kingston, so between Kingston and Hampton I freestyled it on the wrong side of the river. Obviously I can't claim I've 'done the Thames Path' until I've put that right. It's only a three-mile section but these technicalities count.
If I get time after that I'll have a nosey around Bushy Park, and then on the way back to Victoria I'll pay my respects at the Covid Wall.
All going well I'll be home by 10pm Monday night. And that, chaps, will be my first trip anywhere since February 2020. I actually feel quite nervous, and hope I don't catch Covid from someone on the bus.
Today's Photo: Bowls
There's a beautiful sky out there. It feels like a reward for getting through what's been a very trying day.
The difficulties began with Bongo Guy arriving on the rec to play his bongos around 9am.
They escalated in a meeting with the Specialist Student Support woman who appears to know nothing about what autism or ADHD actually involve and who talks to me like I'm five years old.
Then I actually thought my head would explode when a group of children playing on the rec directly opposite the house screamed constantly for what felt like hours.
The little kids have gone now. But they've been replaced by the usual cohort of singing, shrieking, shouting teenagers, who carouse on the rec all night every night when the weather's fine.
(If we're lucky, they might let fireworks off at 1.15am again.)
Now let's look for some positives:
The Covid test came back negative.
Bongo Guy had gone by lunchtime.
Today's session with the extremely aggravating study support woman was the last, and thank fuck for that.
I had fun doing my laundry. I don't know why but I bloody love doing my laundry.
My smart, kind, generous, hardworking and talented friend Charlie sent me a painting he'd made:
Isn't he clever? Now I'd like to do an artwork for him in return. But what? I tried to crochet him a rainbow during the first lockdown but it kept going wonky and then I gave up.
A series of tweets by @mykola tonight finally eased the pain of being wilfully patronised and misunderstood by the student support woman, a fire that burned brightly all day:
So many disabled people don’t know they’re disabled, because they feel like normal human beings and they think “disabled” means something other than that. I was in this camp forever too. It gets programmed into us by society.
Some ways disability manifests: Do you struggle with things that others have no problem with? Are you spending more energy than your family or friends or coworkers to achieve the same outcome? Are you tired all the time from living at your limits? Huh.
Do you dread going to certain kinds of places because they’re too loud? Do you avoid certain things so you don’t have to talk to anyone? Do you live your life in constant terror of your own emotions seizing control and wreaking havoc? These are disabilities. It’s fine.
Do you struggle with words? Are you ashamed because you can’t read as fast as other people? Are numbers just impossible for you to reason about? Do you stutter? Do you feel unsafe in your day to day life? Disability isn’t just wheelchairs and canes.
Last point: so, so many people i know with invisible disabilities don’t feel entitled to use the word. It feels appropriative if you’re not obviously physically disabled somehow. This is actually I think internalized ableism. We only feel comfortable using the word on The Other.
There’s no cutoff, there’s no disability police, and the only thing you’re doing by using the term disabled is wedging the definition open for more people to embrace their struggling selves. It’s a good thing. Embrace it!
Autistic Twitter - I don't know what I'd do without it. It helps an autistic gal feel human, whereas certain student support people definitely don't, especially when they're blaming you for not being able to do the things you can't do, but in such a subtle way they think you won't notice. Ha.
But anyway.
Another blessing - the day is over, at last. Tomorrow will be a brand new day. That's pretty cool.
And it's just started raining, so the teenagers have gone. For the first time today, it's quiet outside.
Amen to that. Deep breath now Weez. Let peace be in my - your - everybody's - soul.
Today's Photo: The Sunset
I went for a walk after posting on here last night to try and perk myself up.
Passing a school, I spied a tiny New Zealand peeking at me out of a window:
I opted to use my tiki handbag to encourage the universe along a bit:
2. The second New Zealand was on a fold-up shopping bag in a gift shop window. It was more of a wormy blob than an accurate portrayal of this marvellous island nation, but I'll take it.
3. The third New Zealand was a Lonely Planet guide in a charity shop.
On the pier, I overheard two teenage girls talking about someone they knew spending a year in Australia, and then I saw a man wearing an Aussie rugby shirt, so I'm claiming those too. It's near enough.
So that's decided then.
I felt fine today. I'm praying the PCR test I had this afternoon comes back negative because not only was I wandering around Penarth today (being extremely careful about social distancing obvs) but I finally booked that bus to London - I'm going down on Sunday, I hope.
Today's Photo: Loveliness
