As those that know the way my mind works will already have realised, I am back from my sojourn in Edinburgh and am back to the rat race.
It was great living the life of the flâneur for a whole week, albeit one with rather limited exposure to green vegetables coupled with not insubstantial consumption of fried food and alcohol. When in Rome as they say… Normal service has very much had to resume, since my return I have completed my tax return for 2011/2 and finished my latest assignment for the Open University. This was the dreaded “reflective essay” where I have to talk about myself as a student and despite what you may have inferred from this blog, I really don’t like writing about myself in any serious way. I realise that I should in theory know far more about the Fish than I do about the art of Benin or the string quartets of Dmitri Shostakovich – but somehow it never feels that way. Still, it’s done now – so my navel can go back to accumulating fluff unobserved by its owner.
My return has also meant the need to return to the day job. As if this were not horrifying enough, I shall have to spend two days (and the night they encompass) in Woking. I have another thrill unpacked day in Surrey next week as well. Woe, woe and thrice woe king, to paraphrase the soothsayer of Up Pompeii! Truly, I am the monarch of dolor.
I also find myself missing the heady mix of comedy, poetry and theatre that filled my time among the Picts. The combination of Luke Wright and Dirty Great Love Story – which had significant chunks in verse – reminded me of how little use I have made of my rhyming dictionary. Before I doze off of at night, I have been trying to construct poetry to fill this void but with little success. For some reason my wind wanders either to work – be it paid, voluntary or OU – or to construct poor quality jokes. As an example of this latter, I present “Exhibit A”:
Q: Why do Balladeers make very poor surveyors.
A: Because they constantly vacillate between three and four feet to their meter. (The correct value is 3.28 feet).
I did warn you it was poor and should probably have mentioned that it requires knowledge of the metrical form of the ballad. It would work better with a verse form entirely in trimeter, but I was unable to find any in English and I thought Greek verse would be needlessly obscure (even for GofaDM).
My yearning for the theatre was partially satisfied by BBC2 on Sunday night with Murder: Joint Endeavour. Not a cheery piece this, definite hints of Scandi-noir (not too surprising as it was directed by a chap who cut his teeth on The Killing), but an absolutely brilliant piece of television and really quite theatrical (I could see it working as a play without too much difficulty)- if none too kind to my birthplace. I think all this theatre-going is expanding my taste in drama: to continue the good work, I wonder if I can sneak in a visit to the stalls on one of my journeys back from Woking? Must be worth a try…