A Writing Exercise

Write what you know. What do I know? I made a list as follows:

1)      Cycling (only the actual moving part, not the mechanical aspects like repairing, or health and fitness and nutrition)
2)      Dogs (but again, only the experiential aspects of owning one – obligation, responsibility, tidying up etc)
3)      Babies (again with the tidying up and also general pulling-of-faces-to-entertain – although have just become proficient at swing-pushing)
4)      Pub football talk (no real understanding, just amassing huge amounts of random trivia and statistics to bedazzle other pundits with similar goals)
5)      Reading (often without understanding – inhabiting a role as a consumer of books)
6)      There is no number 6. Number 6 submerged beneath the rising tide of bleakness.

As exercises go I have had more success losing weight with Suzanne Somers’ Thighmaster ™.

Comments

Stay angry, people.

Ed's dead, baby. Borrowed, with thanks, from the Independent I was unsure whether or not to write a post, post-election, on my post-election blues. For the most part, this was because I'm sure that political commentators, bloggers, activists, and people with far more understanding of the political landscape and the effect that the latest result would have on the lives of those for whom the spectre of a Tory government was only a bad dream, a shade that haunted at night when the lights burned low and the wolves howled at the door, had already used all of the adjectives and metaphors of despair in ways far more eloquent than anything I might come up with. I find however that I must say something, even if it doesn't help matters, to explain to myself more than anyone else why it is I feel so miserable. I will probably have no right to bemoan a Conservative government - my country still has a socialist leader, in theory if not in practice - particularly as I did very littl...