october now
Michael Kenny, "Hills and River Shores"
It's been warm the last few days, in the 80s, which is warm for England, particularly in October. Today on my walk through St George's Gardens I stopped to watch a dog chase squirrels, and his owner, an elderly woman I regularly see in the park, stopped by to remark on the dog's proclivity to chase squirrels (including the two instances in which the dog actually caught a squirrel (one time resulting in death, when the woman had to pick up the warm, dead squirrel and put it in the dog's droppings bag)) and the fact that we could never just get somewhat warm temperatures--that it had to be extremely hot or extremely cold. As this is a particularly temperate climate compared to Michigan, I don't suppose it's particularly true here as a general matter, and from her accent and the dog's tartan harness, I expect the woman was Scottish, where I expect temperature extremes can be greater overall than they are down here, but that's neither here nor there. The weather has been really hot and this is decidedly a nation that does not wear heat well--the streets on my runs in the morning (or evening) have smelled like the piles of vomit and piss peppered along the pavements, and it does take the extremes to get me to conclude this country and its people are a declining mess.
Yesterday I learned that Saturday morning is a particularly bad time to swim in the pool at my gym. I was able to get only 25 laps in when I looked up to see that my lane was occupied by not two swimmers, not three, but four, the last being a fatter old woman. The fatter old woman kicked my arm and I knew I'd had enough. I'd learned on a previous occasion that Saturday afternoons are terrible for swimming at my gym. Sunday mornings are not bad, but this morning this weird dancer guy whom I cursed earlier in the week for dancing around the gym in the general vicinity of the wires, which cut short my weights circuit (as did the turtles on the pec fly machine and at the bench press--seriously, how long does it take to get three sets in?), decided to take his obnoxious and bizarre dance moves into the swimming pool, where he just looked retarded and at times like he was drowning. But how less interesting my life would be if I didn't have pool freaks to complain about!
The picture above is causing me some slight level of stress given its gigantic size and weight and my inability to hang the picture on my own. I will need to find someone who has a power drill, screws and a laser level so that we can screw in the necessary j-hooks just right so the picture is level and fits on the hooks. It will be exciting when it is on the wall. It will be the last picture to go on that wall--the Stevens print is now over the fireplace in the living room, and Gethin's print is now over the fireplace in the dining room (better places for both), but the former move has meant that the mantel clock has moved to the table in front of the fireplace, and it sits there uneasily. It is an ugly and heavy clock which belongs to the landlord and which generally never runs.
I have now bored even myself with this entry and see (and hear from Big Ben) that it is bedtime. Bedtime reading today is the the Legends DC Comics crossover from 1986. The picture below, while it could be from a panel of the New Teen Titans (Donna Troy and Kid Flash, naturally), is actually from the other new picture I have acquired recently and which has replaced the Alice picture next to my bed. Alice has moved outside the bedroom, where the will of Joseph Higgins used to live (another of the landlord's monstrosities, currently without a wall home). I will be comfortable when all the art in the flat is on the walls and not leaning against things.
From "Girl and Boy" by John O'Connor (pencil and watercolour)
Stay ever vigilant-- /B/