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“This world isn’t made for the likes of you,” said the Doctor, shaking his head.
Subtext: this is occurrence #1. It will happen again.
Bugger. I’m at home, resting, and feeling tight all up my spine and neck. I don’t even know what to call it – is this what people mean when they say backache? Muscle strain, the Doctor thought, which is exactly what I thought, and it’ll come right by itself with a bit of rest.
“This world isn’t made for the likes of you.” Too right. It isn’t easy being 6’4″ and keeping the body right. The very worst example, the most infuriating, is molded seatbacks for long-distance travel. Aaargh! What moron thought these were a good idea? They may give more comfort to 85% of the population but the tall folk like me are tortured by these things, which jut into the shoulders and provide no neck support and fall away from the lower back. You end up sitting with your whole spine curved the wrong way, cursing the selfish little ape who first crayoned this idea on his phlegm-spattered design pad. Cure you, ape, curse you.
In other news, the new series of Doctor Who has started filming, and it fills me with joy. Hurrah!

“The thing about these games,” Bronzini said. “They mean so much while you’re playing. All your inventive skills. All your energies. But when you get a little older and stop playing, the games escape the mind completely.”
– Don DeLillo, Underworld
Over on my livejournal I’ve nearly-without-trying organised a Sunday afternoon playing silly kids runaround games session. People seem keen. I am keen. I remember these elements of my kidhood with great fondness. My first ever act of game design was coming up with ‘Monster Tag’, which was a game of tag involving unstoppable monsters rampaging through tunnels as desperate explorers fought them off with pistols and tried to make their escape.
One of my proudest moments ever was coming upon a bunch of kids, only some of whom I knew, and upon asking what they were doing, being told they were playing this game called ‘Monster Tag’. I then had the rules explained to me, the rules of the game I had invented. That felt damn good.
A large part of the appeal of ‘Monster Tag’ was the ritual at the start. The first Monster would stand like a statue and everyone else would take the part of explorers, coming upon this statue in some dank tomb. To deal with its unexpected and ominous appearance, the explorers would then start to heap insults and indignities on the statue. This would continue until the Monster awoke with a roar, and everyone freaked out and fled and the game proper would begin.
If I remember the rules correctly, Monster Tag was basically unplayable. This didn’t stop us from playing the hell out of it for a long time, and I can’t say we ever noticed.
Anyway. The games escape the mind completely. Also, nearly, the body. My back decided it would injure me today, around the right shoulderblade, the muscles tensing up and aching. Ow. I went home and almost didn’t manage the three-minute walk from bus to front door. A couple Ibuprofen knocked it out, and now nine hours later I’m still hurting but it is pretty low-key. If it persists tomorrow I’m off to the emergency room – they may not be able to do anything there, but they’ll at least be able to do nothing quickly.
But dammit I’m gonna be there on Sunday, even if I have to be the cripple.

“Composting At Home” leaflet
Small Huggable Seal
Tom Lehrer Live CD
Ordnance Survey Map of Wales
Business Card for Head of Israeli Refusenik Organisation
Quill Pen

On Thursday afternoon my sister and her fiance (what a word) announced they were coming up to Edinburgh on Friday, arriving late afternoon. And that they were leaving again on Saturday, early afternoon. That they thought this was a good idea tells you a great deal about the pair of them, and I’m sure they’ve enjoyed the 12 hour round-trip driving from Oxford.

Lovely to see them both, fer sure.
————
Also, a huge thanks to Chuck and, um, Brad? and whoever else was involved in the package from home… we haven’t found any kind of explanatory note in there owning up to things yet. But, coolioso. Just watched an ep each of Insiders Guide to Happiness and Eating Media Lunch and was fully entertained.

So we were out in our back garden and liberating raspberries from the big rambly raspberry bush when my wrist brushed against this innocuous-looking plant and it felt like it pricked me.
But it didn’t prick me. It just had soft-looking leaves.
But my wrist was starting to hurt and white welts were coming up. Wow. I’d forgotten plants could do that. I suddenly became very paranoid because I’d clambered right into the middle of the bush to pick stuff. I carefully made my way to freedom. My wrist is still sharp-sore six hours later. Cool.
We ate the raspberries on cardamom ice cream made by some organic outfit in the midlands. Mmmm. Cal didn’t get best effect of the yumminuess, as her sinuses are all blocked – stupid cold, lingering with us both. Plus she got bit by a plant same time as me, exactly the same time, but different plant. It must have been a plot.
But all is well, really.

Dammit, I’m home from work today with a steadily-building pile of used tissues. Hate being off sick.
Last night Cal and I ate curry and watched new BBC comedy ‘The Smoking Room’. Not bad at all. The same deadpan observational grotesquerie as ‘The Office’, ‘Nighty Night’ and the genius ‘Peep Show’ – there’s something of a renaissance for Brit comedy going on at the moment.
Then we sat in bed, me feeling sorry for myself, and watched the Director’s Commentary for the opening episode of ‘Firefly’. Most satisfying.
On the other hand, going to Paris! And later, going to Ireland! We’ll be tracking down family-type folk while there. At least, that’s the plan. I have a list of things to do while overseas, as laid down by my family and friends before departing, and one of them I hope to cross off the list at the other end of this coming trip.

So here it is at nearly 4am, and I’m waiting for the cold and flu meds to kick in because after hours of basically nil sleep I realised there were some lurking in a back drawer somewhere.
Stupid stupid rat creatures. I should be asleep dreaming of gargantua and left-wing and Brando and coats of arms and sine waves and precise composites and Tiger Lily and multitudes and such. Instead I am awake.
I have, however, just eaten some chocolate and it is amazing how much better it makes me feel. Mmm.
And, apple and ginger tea.

Flights are booked. Paris in early August for about a week. Ireland in October for 2 1/2 weeks. Yay.
I have another sore-throat head-stuffed cold-thing. Dammit! I’ve had more of these little bug hits this year than the last three put together! (At least, unlike in previous years, they are only staying a few days before being beaten out of me.)
Word of the day: rabelaisian

I am watching Howard Hawks’ original The Thing From Another World right now on BBC2.
I just had a glass of water and it refreshed me more than anything.
We had a good roleplaying club meeting, and some people even realised it was our one-year anniversary. Our ‘sponsor’ at the bookstore chatted to me and says she wants to organise an event of some kind in October for the 30th anniversary.
I downloaded a fan-made Windows version of legendary C64 game ‘Head Over Heels’.
There’s a Hillary Clinton/Natalie Portman photo doing the internet rounds that made me laugh.
I am warm and comfy.

Had a sweet day yesterday. Nice work – did good stuff, fairly chilled out, played some wicked basketball at lunch. Massive goodness there, best bball workout I’ve had since leaving home. Workmate Russell loaned me a couple of CDs, including one of his own (he DJs on the side) – very cool – and lovely bosswoman Teresa loaned me a couple of recent BBC History magazines.
After work, tripped into Ephelant House to do some writing. Last week I sat down and started writing the second draft of Ron the Body. Two hours later when I put my pen down, I realised that I hadn’t got it. I knew right then. It was not working.
That is a terrible thing to feel. Instant doubts: am I not good enough for this book? Am I in that rewriting hell where nothing ever seems to work? Will I spend the rest of my life rewriting the front chapter?
Shush, self, I thought. Leave it. Come back. Try again.
The first chunk of Ron is all first-person, from the point of view of a woman named Cass. Last night, when I sat down again and straightened out a clean page and wrote ‘Ron the Body – 1 – Cass’ at the top, Cass came to the party. All is good.
Then Cal and I swung around the corner for a nice meal, headed home to dump our stuff, and hopped buswards back into the middle of town for the Salmonella Dub gig.
SDub are a Kiwi dub outfit, ‘world famous in new zealand’ as the saying goes. They deliver great dancefloor sounds. Cab Voltaire was full of Kiwis, unsurprisingly – the gig sold out with a queue at the door hoping for late returns. And the guys came out and played a burning set. I lost my connect a little early on, but when they swung into a more hip-hop flavoured second half I got right back in, fast. Some magic moments.
Some observations, partly from the downtime early on when my mind was wandering through this stuff:
* a Kiwi band playing to a Kiwi crowd in another country just needs to say Aotearoa and the room erupts. I cringed, I admit it.
* all the usual gig-denizens: the smelly natty-dreaded white guy who dances like a maniac even when the music isn’t on; the skinhead shirtless sixpack boys in the middle of things; the guy with the singlet vest and flat cap huffing vicks and flipping out right at the front; the Steve Stifler guy who doesn’t dance but puts his fists in the air and shouts the name of the band now and then. Heh.
* fashion really is different over here. The audience last night coulda been scooped off Cuba Street, and the it was a shock to realise how unfamiliar it was to see everyone wearing T-shirts and earthy colours; skirts of sensible length (but mostly jeans or trousers); not much makeup, not much cleavage. Less of a meatmarket, in other words. Mainstream young people clothes in New Zealand but scruffy and alternohemian on this side of the world.
And finally home after 2am. Sleep was good. (Waking up, not so good, but this is the price we pay.)