I’ve only just finished writing yesterday’s blog and now I’m writing today’s, and yesterday the fact that I had missed another day of blogging barely even warranted a mention, let alone a torturous numerical analogy. Gone are the days of torturous numerical analogies. I just pick myself off, brush dirt off my shoulder, and step back into the road without looking.
Today the house is freezing, and outside has been icy, yet the sky is blue and the light through the window has pleasant warmth. Yesterday, as I painted the Blank Space logo onto the side of the building, my fingers and thumbs felt like they were being crushed slowly by glacial movement, and I had to boil the kettle and hold my hands in the steam. And that is all for today’s weather report. I watched Emma Thompson/Ang Lee’s 1995 adaption of Sense and Sensibility a couple of days ago and Mrs Dashwood chastises the little girl Margaret by saying “If you cannot think of anything appropriate to say will you please restrict your remarks to the weather”. A good enough rule on occasion I suspect, but I would say that there are many occasions in life when saying the inappropriate must be the best thing. Especially if it shuts someone up or gets a laugh. But right now I don’t have anything appropriate to say, so... there isn’t a cloud in the sky.
Watching Sense and Sensibility just made me want to watch something funny; specifically either Blackadder the Third (episodes entitled Ink and Incapability, Nob and Nobility, etc), or The Importance of Being Earnest for its jolly-posho hilarity, and overly long-winded propriety. “My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist. It produces a false impression.” “I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing”. (I desire to get married, but what do I know?) Or; “Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.”
So when talking about the weather you and I mean something else, and are merely talking about the weather because we cannot think of anything proper to say. Oh the trials and tribulations of society living (are something that this pauper doesn’t have to worry about). Then there is football: the thing that men talk about when they mean something else. Why else would anyone be so interested in football, if not to obscure their true meaning behind statto-nerdism and homoerotic fixations with the physical fitness of childish millionaires. I wish I could talk about football. The only problem is that it’s so fucking boring. So boring in fact that even the weather is a more interesting subject. I’d rather work at the Met Office than the Football Association.
If unlike me you love football (I actually think it’s OK, sometimes) and want to ‘unite against the ugly side of football’ go to Respect F.C. and show your support. It’s some sort of FA thing saving the beautiful game from gobby morons (I know a few of them). If you’re not bothered or are a gobby moron, then that’s fine too. That’s enough football talk for now. If I was to go on about it any longer I might have to start pretending to know which player is better than which other one, or screaming racist violent language at the telly, or any of the other pointless activities enjoyed by association football fanatics.
How did I end up here; deriding football and quoting from Sense and Sensibility? To anyone questioning my manly credentials I just like to say in my defence that I have a tool box, there is a Black and Decker Workmate stowed away under my bed, I think Die Hard is the best Christmas film, and I’m getting married. To a woman. Proof if proof were needed, and all without any suspiciously vitriolic football-inspired homophobia. That said, perhaps I should have just stuck to talking about the weather.