Holiday Journal - Day 5

Holiday Journal - Day 5 - 27/08/08

I really shouldn't have built this up as a 'journal', as the entries have been rubbish. Most peoples' journals probably include details about their bungee jumps or holiday flings or the time they almost saw Cilla Black in a New York H&M's (that one actually happened to me - good times).

Today we went for a pleasant walk up to Connaught Gardens in Sidmouth, which is a pleasant place to be. Then we retired to a cafe for some Earl Grey tea and a slice of cake. All very civilised. And pleasant.

I still don't feel very relaxed. But I do feel tired. Intense fatigue is a bit like relaxation, because you don't move much.

In the evening, we watched Liverpool almost lose, and I ate too many chocolate fingers.

And that, my friends, is it. Wow, that was a whole lot of nothing. Maybe I did do some more exciting things, but have forgotten them. I'm writing this on Thursday after all. You can forget a lot in half a day.

Did I go bungee-jumping? I don't think so. Did I see any celebrities? Well, I did see someone who looked like a handsome movie-star, but then I realised I was looking in the mirror! Then I wept...

Maybe I was drugged and subjected to strange experiments. I did sleep in quite late. But I don't feel particularly sore in any sensitive areas.

So I suppose it must just have been tea, walking and footie on the television. What a life I lead.

Oh, there is one other thing. In the evening, my mum reminded me of 'back-slang' which is a kind of Pig Latin variant that we used to speak as a child. It's impossible to convey written down, but involves adding the sound 'aig' into every syllable. We proceeded to speak this way all night, until we no longer had any sense of normal language or propriety.

To demonstrate the language, I'll embed an audio file of my reading the first stanza of a D.H. Lawrence poem in back-slang. Read along with the recording. I'm sure it will entertain you. Sure.

Brooding Grief

A yellow leaf, from the darkness
Hops like a frog before me;
Why should I start and stand still?

(For some reason, my voice will only record at a very high pitch, but high voices are always funny. That's why I keep children in my basement.)