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A Poem A Day 28

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Rage, rage against the piling up of shite.

It’s Local Election Day in Cardiff, and on my way out with the dog, I am greeted by the smiling faces of the Liberal Democrats’ Plasnewydd Focus Team. I had naively believed that I might go one day without being harassed by the Liberal Democrats, but obviously today was not going to be that day. Nonetheless, it was the final straw for me and my paper-thin patience. A little history, and some contemporaneous comment, would be useful right about now I think. The Lib Dems have led the council in Cardiff since 2004. My sources in the Welsh Conservative Party have indicated that they are about to take a complete pasting in today’s local election, with Labour way out in front, likely to come close to the 50 members they had back in 1999. In my opinion, this is a justified spanking. And yet I am unable to justify this on a political level. According to some of the bombastic nonsense that comes through my door unbidden every single day of the week and often on weekends too,
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Bike sheds and urinal ettiquette

I noticed something today, something that I had previously ignored, on locking up my practical (in every sense except cost-effective) bicycle this morning in the bike shed provided by my place of work. When I entered the enclosure (see diagram 1 below), I realised that nearly every other bike hoop had been taken, so I started thinking about which space it would be most proper to appropriate for myself. Normally, at 8.15am this is a mere formality, as I park in a nearly empty bike shed at the far end, directly underneath the security camera. Today, I'd dropped off le petit monstre at his nursery (that is not an euphemism for anything before you begin) and so was a few minutes later than is usual, hence the rather replete shed.  What am I doing? I thought to myself, this is not a toilet, just take the first space available. Diagram 1. Our shed has a nifty half-pipe style roof.  Great for  nearly keeping the weather out, bad for  bashing  helmets there upon. That's when
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Undead Journal

I've just spent two hours (not unpleasant hours I must admit, thanks in no small part to Death in Vegas ) fiddling with profile options on Live Journal , trying to get them just right, like the fuel / air mix on an airplane or the pH of a swimming pool, so that I have the most fecund environment into which I could cast the seeds of my imagination. Little tweaks here - do I want all comments uploaded to Twitter and likewise, all Twitter postings captured here? - little permissions denied there - NO FB links, thanks - and just when the time had come to finally stop procrastinating and get stuck in, virtual pen in hand and coffee with chocolate digestive at a convenient distance (not too close to the laptop, not so far away that I might need to stretch), all I could see was the vast empty space of the Internet. Sometimes you eat the abyss and sometimes... All that directionless but febrile activity has burned out the synapses. At least, that's a good excuse for now. I genuinel
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