Useful November 13, 2007Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Tags: Casanova, dossing
Darlings, I haven’t done a single useful thing all day. Nothing productive. Worthy. Deserving of a gold star, a big tick or a slap on the back. Haven’t done a scrap of the work I should be doing, unless purists will count the perhaps even as much as fifteen seconds I did after midnight last night. Haven’t massaged the Russian’s bunions or bought him a big diamond ring. Haven’t done anything bureaucratic. (Not that I can remember there’s anything bureaucratic I specifically and urgently need to attend do, but there probably is, this being Germany.) Haven’t rung my mum. Paid any bills. Self-flagellated.
So I hope blogging counts.
Darlings, as I don’t have any convictions (I mean ideas, though I don’t think I have a criminal record either, though no doubt German computers flash up all sorts of asterisks and exclamation marks by my name due to paperly infractions I have committed) and, in a way, life isn’t especially ghastly at the moment, I have nothing at all to say. At all. Apart from hello.
I reminded myself somewhere and sometime or other, seeing as blogging is the only thing in life I like (as well as jam roly-poly) and the only thing I am prepared to take seriously – paying bills? Pah! Making my way in the world? Sod it! Blogging? Hell yeah – and, potentially, even make an effort with, that I had decided I should buy a notebook to note down things I wanted to shock, scintillate and scandalise anyone who happens to drop in here with. I can’t afford a notebook, of course, even with all the money I have saved from not smoking (still livid with myself for stopping. It’s so English of me to have stopped, isn’t it? So Protestant. I’m probably going to have to start preaching about the nation’s morals soon. Once I learn German), but, as luck would have it, I had one lying about. “Yes, that’ll come in handy,” I said to myself, though I mischose my moment, and accidentally said it out loud when I happened to be leering at some Pangasius – is that really catfish? – in the supermarket and the sales assistant of unclear gender – I think she’s a woman but she has a pencil moustache and a not ungenerous beard – frowned disapprovingly. So now I’ve taken to jotting down things, and then the scribbles stare back at me and make me feel guilty and have ruined the whole experience altogether.
All the things I’ve got written down are pants.
But it’s too late for usefulness today. You can’t start the working day when it’s dark. As much as I detest winter, it’s quite cosy, in a way, it being pitch at four. I can soon look forward to hibernation and my body-clock switching to its anti-nocturnal setting. Going to bed at about 7, like in children’s books, and getting up at about 4. Though I can’t blame the darkness today. Not entirely. (Darlings, can ordinary folk use this as an excuse for not working? Can you say, “Sorry I didn’t come into work today. It was too dark”?) No, it was another moment of ill-timed low-grade spontaneity. I happened to be over near our home-discotheque, probably putting something away as the Russian (probably) came into my bijou home-officette and (probably) quook with anger that a dictionary was on my table rather than on its shelf. I lingered a while, to put off activity a precious few useless seconds longer. Pressed play on my tape-deck willing to let my ears be buffeted by whatever it was happened to be lying around compactly in there. And I knew there was no hope once I’d been got into disco-bunny mode by everyone’s favourite Turkish pop song.
If I can just be bothered to get dressed, it’ll probably be a long night…