Scratch the Wall

The sound of hot coffee is still ringing in my mouth, so I might as well write a sentence.

I've just been faxing a vampire.

I know faxing is old hat, but he's been alive for hundred of years. Give him a break. He's invisible on Skype, so that's a no-go. But I keep telling him he should go digital. It's not good for the environment to be working on paper all the time. His castle is chock-full of ring binders.

"Paul," he always says, "my real weakness isn't sunlight or garlic. It's paperwork!"

And then he grins that grin of his, and I can't help but chuckle. "That's why you should get on email," I say. "It's so much easier."

But he always just waves his hand dismissively and wanders off to put the kettle on.

He'll cave in one of these days.

You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Not until you've earned that certificate.

The sound of lukewarm coffee is thundering up my tongue. It's nearly the end of the working week. I'm easing myself out of the corporate mindset and into a slipper.

I'm so glad Premier League football is back this weekend. Last weekend, I was climbing the walls. My whole weekend schedule is based around football. I don't know how to live without Mark Lawrenson making me wish I didn't.

I had to use clocks. Honest-to-goodness clocks.

A football-less weekend is like being adrift in a massive salty lake with no compass, no eyes, and no GPS.

Hey, has anyone done a joke about GPS and GPs? As in general practitioners? I don't know how the joke would work. That's not my business. I write the piano. You make it sing.

This weekend, I'll know where I am.

Football Focus? Oh, it's time for lunch.

Final Score? Oh, it's time to put the laundry on.

Match of the Day nearly over? Oh, it's time to prepare for Eric Lichaj.

That's how I live. Time is just numbers on a disc.

Everyone has their own way of marking out their life.

Christians have a Sunday service they can rely on. It doesn't matter who exists or how uncomfortable the pews are. It's a way to stick a flag in a big throbbing mass of insignificance. For Catholics, attending a big throbbing mass is a part of their weekly routine.

Jews love a different day or something. In the Sikh faith, half past eleven is considered sacred.

Football performs the same function. It orients and orientates us.

That's why solitary confinement in prison is so terrible. You have no flags, no football, no clocks. You have to scratch the days on the wall of your cell. It's true. I've seen films about it.

...

I'm getting off-track here. Where was I?

I'm lost in my own post about being lost. I'll just check my GPS.

Hmm.

They've all lost their stethoscopes...

...