Taxi

I know I should be doing something else, but I'm doing this.

***

I wrote that twenty minutes ago.

Since then, I've been doing something else. I haven't been doing this. Though from my perspective then, that was this, and this was that. But now that is that and this is this.

This is always this. And that is always that.

Unless you cast your mind back.

Don't cast your mind back too far, or your brain bait will fly off the hook. <--an fisherman="fisherman" old="old" saying="saying">

The trouble was, even though I was doing something else, the something else wasn't the thing I should have been doing, so was just as useless as me doing this (that).

So I've come back, like the prodigal son, to ask for preferential treatment and irritate my prudent brother.

I'm wearing my intimidating hoodie, but am sitting too close to the heater. I'm going to open the window and sit near it.

Occupy yourself for twenty seconds or so.

...

Right. I'm back. Did I miss anything?

Mmm, fresh air! Windows are great.

Do you think a public toilet cubicle has ever occupied itself?

What is the sound of one hand clapping in a toilet cubicle?

Mm? That's not the sound of one hand clapping? What is it then?

Oh.

Oh dear.

Here I am in my intimidating hoodie:



Nice and warm - which is lucky: there's a lot of cold air coming in through the window. Windows are great. If used responsibly.

I bet I include more pictures of myself in my blog than anyone else in the world.

After all, why would they include pictures of me?

Aha. Jokes. Jokes are my forté.

Or my thirté at least.

I look like a homeless Muslim wizard.

I've just this second received an email from LoveFilm telling me that Kramer vs Kramer is on the way. That's how homeless Muslim wizards roll: 70s domestic dramas, cheap cider, religious texts disapproving of the aforementioned cider, and a big magic horse.

My feet are getting cold now.

My legs are fine. Trousered all the way up to the waist, and all the way down to the ankle.

My hoodie is warming my torso and head.

But my feet are sockless, and as such are struggling to deal with the drop in the temperature.

We need to invent a kind of foot hoodie. Well, I don't. You do.

And you need to bring it to me.

What do you think Neneh Cherry is doing now?

She's not on Twitter, but from her website, it seems she's still gigging.

Remember Neneh Cherry?

I can hear a car's engine running. Presumably from inside a car.

That's another drawback of the open window. Sounds travel more easily through the naked sky than through a transparent shield of glass.

It could be a taxi.

It has started to drive. Presumably at the behest of a driver.

I wonder if Neneh Cherry is inside.

I wonder if this blog is of any use to anyone. I mean, what is it?

If I wanted to simply record my inner-monologue, I could have just pressed a Dictaphone into my brain.

What is this?

As we've established, this is this.

And tomorrow, when I look back at this, it will be that.

And when I'm at a further level of disconnect, it may be the other.

I don't want to spell check this post. I don't really want to re-read it. Not right now.

So I might not proof read it.

If any of this has seemed to be incoherent, it's probably because I haven't proofread it.

I might have done typos. Or repeated words in a sentence.

I might have mentioned Neneh Cherry by accident.

I don't know, because by the time I move onto a new sentence, I have forgotten the last one.

Apparently Neneh Cherry's middle name is Neh-Neh Neh.

That's funny.

I could do that joke at stand-up gigs. If people remember Neneh Cherry. Which they won't, because they are young and I am old.

I think I'll end this now. Even by my standards this has been ungainly. I'll end with a pleasant picture. Not of Neneh Cherry. Or of a scary wolf.

But of something that we can all take comfort in:

a gravy boat in the shape of a turkey