Horizon is oblivious – 19th August 1994

Hey, hey, hey, back to the old typewriter to save ma poor wrist, which is, as a matter of fact, feeling much better, thank you very much. Now’s a Friday, another week rushes by. It’s great to be at home, even if this house doesn’t feel much like home, at least it’s not at work right? And it’s a shame the poor Broni has to leave me each morning to go to her work but I get up at the same time too and organise myself.

Broni did try and leave me lists of things to do but I’m proving to her that I am a domesticated little bunny anyway and even presented her with a delicious curry meal last night that I slaved over in the kitchen (not true really, I just picked some recipe and cooked ’em, this cooking business is a piece of piss if you’ve got all the ingredients – that’s the hardest thing to organise I reckon and I remember zip from doing Home Economics at school).

We got into our heads we were going to get on a train and travel around Scandinavia until Wednesday when Broni got home from work early and we dashed into town to find out info when it dawned on us quite how expensive it was going to be and how little time we had to organise (time and organisation – keywords in my life right now). So we walked across the street into a travel agent and booked us a ticket to Rhodes – just like that, no messing about here. No time, no organisation!

We both talked to Rob for ages that night as prom music blasted out from the TV – Cool! I typed up my column for the STE Bulletin next day which was my first use of a normal typewriter in a zillion years, can’t beat computers. Hopefully, it will stir a few people up. You know, sometimes I write down some stuff and just run along thought processes and end up with some really enlightened stuff, stuff I wouldn’t normally think of. I wonder how I can run that process without having to write it down. It would be a definite advantage to be able to analyse the situation immediately but my mind’s always in such a blur of speed (not the drug) that thoughts get lost before they’re even thunk! Broni calls me impulsive, which is probably nicer than what some people would call it!

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