Why is that sodding Captain Tom Moore now doing sponsorship videos for Cadbury’s Chocolate? It’s so nauseatingly* wrong, and oddly like slavery. I’m sure it’s a front for something more sinister. Mind control, slavery or fraud.
*The chocolate itself isn’t nauseating, it’s quite nice. I don’t eat rich things much though.
A feeling of melancholy. Can I just sit and drink coffee all morning? I suppose I can. No one else around to tell me not to. I’m going to. I’m listening to a programme about Generation X. I’d like to be one of them. I forget which generation I am. I’ve written that the Generation X people were 1950s, pre Baby Boomers, but I think I’m wrong about that. I think they came later, 1970s before the millennial lot (and some others – punk dropouts), so I am one of them. I think the identity would suit me fine, reading the beat novelists, listening to freeform jazz, printing zines. Hanging out looking melancholy. I’ve often felt I am without definition, without identity. We all need a sort of identity at times though I think, however much we try to reject the ones society attempt to slap on to us. You can reject the unwanted one, but you become nothing if you don’t replace it with something, and you can’t just be nothing. I can order the nice paper from Atlantis and start putting written works up on walls. Should I include my web address? I don’t see why not. It can’t do any harm.
I feel uninspired by surroundings today and lately, unable to write much. I just heard (on this Radio 4 programme) a staged dialogue between two young men, and the sound of the DC motors of a tram. I think the time is getting confused again. I wrote tram, but trams disappeared long before Generation X began. I do wish trams were still around. The terminus at Knee Hill near here was the end of the very last line to remain in London. I wonder how long it would have taken to get to town? Probably too long, realistically, even though there was less traffic then. There was a depot near the station, and a large maintenance engineering works at Charlton. I suppose Radio 4 could be wrong about the generations, or I am confused.
I suppose visiting places could/should inspire me to write too. I watched a John Rogers film yesterday, he walked along the other side of the Thames around Purfleet and the Dartford bridge. It was grey, damp, deserted, all as expected. I’ve often looked over from the south side and longed to explore. It feels inaccessible from here. The girth of the river exaggerates the distance, the remoteness, the out of reach quality. Close up, John’s film shows the hostility of the terrain. It is designed for function, not aesthetic pleasure. I may go there this week.
The nice cute postman has re-appeared. Well, I don’t know if he’s been away. I wonder what he thinks about while he walks around, he must have so much time for thought. I hope he doesn’t go home to a wife and child, eating frozen food* in front of fantasy escapist popular tv.
*obviously they’d cook the food first.
Later. It’s 1pm. I haven’t made a plan for the day yet, and it starts to feel too late. I wrote that then, and it is still true today. I can take some things to the recycling bins, then later go to Sainsburys. I’ll buy some pens. I can do things at home after 4pm, when it will bew getting dark. I may go to the coast this week. There are relics at Seaford, apparently.
The sun is bright, the sky is clear blue. This flat gets light from somewhere for most of the day. I’m lucky in that respect. Odd to think it will be getting dark soon. This winter is lingering. The sun is rebelling.
Andrew Stevenson 