Random Jottings of a Man About to Leave
Sep. 21st, 2007 11:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIt's about this time of year - when the weather turns chilly and the central heating doesn't work - that Barry decides that actually he might really be a lap-cat after all, y'know? We get some heavy-duty sitting. Last night he even came and sat on me in bed.
It's raining out there, a sound I have been flinching from for years. Today I am sitting here reminding myself warmly that I no longer need to care about the rain. My house no longer lets it in; I have a waterproof roof. I had to go up into the roofspace yesterday (a complex procedure, involving athletic balancing and gymnastic raisings of self on unaccustomed muscles) to see if I could fix the central heating the only way I know how (and no, I couldn't) - and for the first time in years I really needed the torch, because it was pitch black without it. There was no light squeezing in through holes, not anywhere.
Last weekend I had a couple of days in Birmingham with The Write Fantastic, then a couple of days in Henley with Helen & Mark. I really like Henley; it's become one of my fantasy if-I-won-the-lottery-I-could-buy-a-house-here destinations. Handy for Oxford, handy for London, and a river runs through it. (Yes, I know Newcastle has a river too, but the city has sort of grown apart from it; most times I'm in town, I go nowhere near the river. In Henley it's just there, unavoidable. And it's the Thames, too: it's my river.) Also, Henley has restaurants. Many many restaurants, of the if-I-won-the-lottery-I-could-afford-to-eat-here variety. Damn, I wish my numbers would come up.
I should go back to packing; this weekend I am in Nottingham, for FantasyCon. Indeed, I'm leaving in two hours. I have remembered, mirabile dictu, to print out a story to read late-night tonight (the same story I read at Summer Phantoms this year, in a blatant attempt to encourage more people to buy last year's Phantoms anthology). I have no idea what I've forgotten, but no doubt there will be something. Last weekend, magnificently, it was all the contact details for my host Stan: his phone numbers, his address and how to get there. If I hadn't met Debbie at the train station, I'd have been more than a little stuck. That doesn't apply this weekend, as I'm getting a lift! In a car! But there will be something. I always forget something, it's a tradition.
I invented a tradition once. I think. I said, "If you want to come back somewhere, leave something of your own behind you and take something of theirs away." I only said it on the spur of the moment, to make myself sound more interesting (I was very young, and very much in love) but it kind of stuck - and I don't think I'd picked it up anywhere, I think it was my very own.
Pack, pack. How many teddy bears to take? (It's a serious question: I always take Softly, obviously - see icon - but now there is the Write Fantastic bear as well, who could stake a claim for coming.) How many books to read? (Just one - no train journeys! - but it's a fat one: biography of Gore Vidal. Still not finished, because I've only been reading it on trains, and I keep writing on trains instead of reading.) How many books to sell? (Lots, but only 'Phantoms'. I kind of hope to see my own books in the dealers' room, 'specially as I'm shortlisted for the best-novel award. Which I keep forgetting about...)
*exit, pursued by packing*
It's raining out there, a sound I have been flinching from for years. Today I am sitting here reminding myself warmly that I no longer need to care about the rain. My house no longer lets it in; I have a waterproof roof. I had to go up into the roofspace yesterday (a complex procedure, involving athletic balancing and gymnastic raisings of self on unaccustomed muscles) to see if I could fix the central heating the only way I know how (and no, I couldn't) - and for the first time in years I really needed the torch, because it was pitch black without it. There was no light squeezing in through holes, not anywhere.
Last weekend I had a couple of days in Birmingham with The Write Fantastic, then a couple of days in Henley with Helen & Mark. I really like Henley; it's become one of my fantasy if-I-won-the-lottery-I-could-buy-a-house-here destinations. Handy for Oxford, handy for London, and a river runs through it. (Yes, I know Newcastle has a river too, but the city has sort of grown apart from it; most times I'm in town, I go nowhere near the river. In Henley it's just there, unavoidable. And it's the Thames, too: it's my river.) Also, Henley has restaurants. Many many restaurants, of the if-I-won-the-lottery-I-could-afford-to-eat-here variety. Damn, I wish my numbers would come up.
I should go back to packing; this weekend I am in Nottingham, for FantasyCon. Indeed, I'm leaving in two hours. I have remembered, mirabile dictu, to print out a story to read late-night tonight (the same story I read at Summer Phantoms this year, in a blatant attempt to encourage more people to buy last year's Phantoms anthology). I have no idea what I've forgotten, but no doubt there will be something. Last weekend, magnificently, it was all the contact details for my host Stan: his phone numbers, his address and how to get there. If I hadn't met Debbie at the train station, I'd have been more than a little stuck. That doesn't apply this weekend, as I'm getting a lift! In a car! But there will be something. I always forget something, it's a tradition.
I invented a tradition once. I think. I said, "If you want to come back somewhere, leave something of your own behind you and take something of theirs away." I only said it on the spur of the moment, to make myself sound more interesting (I was very young, and very much in love) but it kind of stuck - and I don't think I'd picked it up anywhere, I think it was my very own.
Pack, pack. How many teddy bears to take? (It's a serious question: I always take Softly, obviously - see icon - but now there is the Write Fantastic bear as well, who could stake a claim for coming.) How many books to read? (Just one - no train journeys! - but it's a fat one: biography of Gore Vidal. Still not finished, because I've only been reading it on trains, and I keep writing on trains instead of reading.) How many books to sell? (Lots, but only 'Phantoms'. I kind of hope to see my own books in the dealers' room, 'specially as I'm shortlisted for the best-novel award. Which I keep forgetting about...)
*exit, pursued by packing*