... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

228: Pancake P-A-R-T-Y time

Today was (and is for the next two minutes) a day of early morning job interviews, early afternoon napping, late afternoon job interviews, followed by Blank Media In_tuition Creative Writing workshop at BLANKSPACE (6.30-8.30, second Tuesday of every month), then a few pancakes round at a friend’s to celebrate or commemorate the day some people ate some lard a million years ago because Jesus had a think or something.  If we were American (United Staters or Brazilian or one of those)or maybe more European and Catholic today would be Mardi Gras, fat Tuesday, woohoo P-A-R-T-Y.  May I remind you we are British, so today we eat pancakes with lemon juice and sugar.  That is the law, because Jesus said so.  Did you shrive?

Despite my lack of Mardi Grasing I’m still exhausted, so it’s just going to be one of those half arsed blogs, be warned.  Although I am lead to understand that there are people who call themselves Christians who, although tied to bizarre rituals and an unusual cult of human sacrifice, ‘original’ sin and atonement, like to wind down from the frantic joy of Pancake Day by giving up picking their nose for 40 days.  I have never given up anything for lent; it’s never been more than an insignificant blip on my calendar, a non-event in my family.  But maybe I could use this arbitrary sombre celebration as an excuse to indulge in some OCD-tinged writing habits.

For the next 40 days I could give up using the personal pronoun ‘I’, or I could stop writing posts about not being able to think about what to write, and only write art-geek articles about interesting books and exhibitions.  Or I could give up writing blogs that aren’t about types of food I haven’t eaten on aeroplanes, or types of animals I haven’t seen inside cars.  I could give up writing about any non-hair related subjects, or non-sport stuff.  Maybe the letter S should be abandoned as filthy, sinful and un-Christian for the next 40 days of Christ-like angelic purity.

Anyhoo, the yawns become me into their pit of cushiony goodness; I feel their pull.  I topple over sideway and land face-first in the squidgy softiness of me beddy-beddington.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzz 

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