Click click click

I've noticed that the dates at the bottom of my posts are based on when the draft is started, rather than when I decide to post. This is especially annoying in terms of the post below for two reasons:

1) It suggests that I had the Potter book before it was even out, and so must have mystical powers (how embarassing!)
2) It suggests that I thought the two day gap between Weds and Fri was 'ages', which is quite sad.

For the record, I posted it on Sunday (I think).

As for the book, here's my review:

I liked it.

***

So, everywhere is underwater. I assume that our old flat in Oxford was probably evacuated, as it was right by the river. So, in a way, it is quite good to be living in the Westcountry where the rain has been much less destructive. The only thing we have to worry about now is a tsunami, and they're probably quite rare.

Although the flooding has been terrible, I can't help but be annoyed by those people who are complaining about having no running water, whilst it rains outside. Put out a pan or something! God's given you a freebie here! Just 'cause it's not Evian, doesn't mean you can't use it!

With the controversy about building new homes on flood-plains, I think they should build them on huge poles like in the Jetsons. I'd fucking love to live on top of a giant pole. And have a dog in a space-suit. But that might be giving away too much about my personal life...

***

Speaking of sharing too much information, I'd like any wannabe Freudians to tell me what this is about:

A recurring element in my dreams is that when I try to run, I'm much too slow, and can't speed up. The only way to run faster is to use my arms and run on all fours, which makes me speed along like a greased cheetah.

What does this mean? Is it symbolising a desire to return to an animalistic state? A doubting of my own humanity? A desperation for some last resort, beyond the bounds of my own ability?

Or is it just that I like to bend over?

***

I can't wait for the new football season to start. Saturdays just aren't the same without Football Focus and Match of the Day. I miss Mark Lawrenson's terrible jokes that are met with silence. I miss spitting hatred at Garth Crooks and his stupid, arrogant, Norman Osborn-hairstyled, shiny head.

I miss the comforting regularity of disappointment every Saturday as Saints excel at mediocrity.

I miss Adrian Chiles on MOTD2, and his funny squashed face. When Saints were relegated and West Brom (Chiles's team) stayed up, a friend of mine texted me in jest, saying "Well at least Adrian Chiles is happy. I think we can all take comfort in that."

And the weird thing was, through all the depression and misery of that day, I kinda did take comfort in it.

***

I'm listening to Squarepusher and slightly freaking out at the kitchen table, so I'd better go now in case I start throwing things about and wearing the fruit bowl as a hat. Again.

Good day, sir.