So I came out first thing this morning - second thing; it was light - and what I noticed - again; this is (not) getting monotonous - was the clarity of the light. Across the valley from Trelawney Road: the houses, the road downhill, the spire of the Catholic Church. The same in town, looking across The Moor and again on Fish Strand Quay, looking across at the harbour. The air washed clean, I suppose, by the rain and the weather. The other day, that big fat lying-down cloud with choppy wind inside it. The several recent early walks with frost underfoot. It has been cold recently, by local standards, but these mornings. Photography; art. I get it.
Thinking about thinking about (sic) the politics. To have a view from here (from my/our side of the radio, TV, internet, and I nearly forgot print media) is to be subject to a lot of storytelling and interpretation - obviously, but also insidiously. It's an indulgence. None of it is manifest. But nor is the day-to-day flood of information actually the story. And I suppose what strikes me is that we can't make the story. They're just people, not pantomime villains with an obligation to conform to a narrative. But the narrative gets imposed anyway. What's there? And what are we seeing? What would my world view be, a few centuries back? Perhaps it's media that replaces religion.
Had the chimney swept yesterday. Required for the insurance. Apparently I have "good quality soot". Felt good about that for a while. And the hippeastrum is flowering now. This time of year, the sun rises to one side of the horizon, so I only get a brief slant of direct sunlight. Gave the hippeastrum its fifteen minutes of brightness. Maybe all the politics is best understood as voting against, not voting in favour. We're not for - what we've got, but we were against - what we had. The day begins.
Thinking about thinking about (sic) the politics. To have a view from here (from my/our side of the radio, TV, internet, and I nearly forgot print media) is to be subject to a lot of storytelling and interpretation - obviously, but also insidiously. It's an indulgence. None of it is manifest. But nor is the day-to-day flood of information actually the story. And I suppose what strikes me is that we can't make the story. They're just people, not pantomime villains with an obligation to conform to a narrative. But the narrative gets imposed anyway. What's there? And what are we seeing? What would my world view be, a few centuries back? Perhaps it's media that replaces religion.
Had the chimney swept yesterday. Required for the insurance. Apparently I have "good quality soot". Felt good about that for a while. And the hippeastrum is flowering now. This time of year, the sun rises to one side of the horizon, so I only get a brief slant of direct sunlight. Gave the hippeastrum its fifteen minutes of brightness. Maybe all the politics is best understood as voting against, not voting in favour. We're not for - what we've got, but we were against - what we had. The day begins.