Life, as they say, is a mighty fandragon, and so no greater joy can there be than the fresh release from captivity. Thus has been my state for the last two weeks. But it's not been a doubleweek of roaring and stomping and devastating villages and virgins, rather my fortnight has been spent quietly smouldering, huffing and puffing patiently, surveying my land. In bold-encrusted headings, therefore, here are some of my surveyings.
I've flirted many times with alcoholism in the past, desperately trying to fully addict myself, but I have resigned myself to failing. Since my return, I have been drinking steadily, but never heavily, and never before teatime. Uusually, I'm restricted to a few Peronis in the evening: this is not the sign of an alcoholic. Rather shockingly, I don't think I've been properly drunk even once in the last two weeks.
I have fully embraced the world of insomnia. At the best of times, I find it difficult to quickly adjust back to a normal pattern after weeks of nightshift, but this time, after having effectively being doing a nightshift since March, my bodyclock refused to play ball and I started getting up at 3am each morning. Eventually, after negotiation with the gods, I had this shifted to 5am, and now I'm nearing something like 8am, which is quite desirable. It meant, for the first week certainly, I was suffering from chronic lack of sleep, and passing out for inconvenient spells in the afternoon.
With Chef Green, I have been playing many games of the classic Playstation Uno game FIFA 2001. This is a sincerely fiercely fought computer game that we take very seriously, seriously enough to log the results in a book, into which I also compile a list of statistics. Loss of temper is frequent, as are raging huffs, and Green has been most displeased that I have won the first two "pages". I am most displeased that he has the best result to date, beating me 6-1 with Derby County. Derby! I have known Green for around 17 or 18 years, and I firmly believe that if our friendship is to end it will be because of this 9 year old computer game.
My mother is doing all sorts of wild things. Honestly, at her age she should just be baking, but instead she has quit her job and retired early, sold the family home and bought a small detached house next to the railway. As well as this, she has a manfriend! This manfriend is trying to convince her to live on a barge with him. Both my mother and the manfriend appear to rather like each other, but have encountered a massive stumbling block with regard to pets: she has one quiet cat, he has five boisterous and non-little dogs. Nobody knows how this can be resolved.
Gosh, hasn't the weather been lovely. I've spent mornings and afternoons on my roof, celebrating our planet's increasing warmth. Long may it continue. However, this sentiment I do not extend to my neighbours, who also utilise the roof. Straggly students, who enjoy loud music and smoking "reefers", their presence on the roof is to my ongoing chagrin. What a mess these imbeciles make - broken bottles, glasses, scrappy blankets, a wooden sword, a mangled disposable barbecue, the remnants of illegal drugs (as you know, I am appalled by all illegal drugs). I am not impressed by my student neighbours and am trying to come up with some kind of subtle revenge.
My good, indeed beloved, friend Varwell got engaged many months ago, as previously reported. Shockingly, he remains engaged still. It's beginning to look like he may actually get married.
I, however, remain unengaged, and uninfluenced by the intoxifying effects of love.
Berlin and London
On Saturday, I'm taking a little jaunt to Berlin, to see the delightful duo of Mary and Carlos. Berlin, as you know, is the capital of Germany, the most populous nation in Europe, unless you count Russia. When in Berlin, I intend to look at buildings, walk about, and go to a thumping warehouse techno club. Immediately following Berlin will be London, where I'll be meeting my cousin and her husband. Is a cousin's husband a cousin-in-law, or does such a term not exist? When in London I intend to visit the British Museum, to furnish my vast mind with even more decoration.
Perhaps the biggest event of the summer has been the purchase of some blackout blinds for my attic bedroom Velux windows. Previously, light would stream in at ungody hours and gracelessly wake me and my lucky companion(s) from our slumbers; now I can't even tell whether it's day or night. I heartily recommend blackout blinds.
I'm almost certain there's other stuff worth recording, but I can't remember right now, and really should go and pay my council tax after months of stalling.