Tuesday, August 19, 2003
Doctor's Blog,
Stardate 18.08.2003
******
Annual Leave, Day 1
The dark ominous clouds moved into position swiftly just after I decided to wander outdoors today. I knew I shouldn't have spoken aloud. After some faffing around I finally wandered outdoors anyway and gravitated towards Picadilly circus. Why, exactly I was unsure - perhaps because it's near the residence of a female I felt a fleeting attraction to? Or perhaps because its a stone's throw away from Borders and I was running out of Book. I consciously rejected the former (sad, when you find yourself asking yourself questions and not being really certain about the answers), and settled down in the little square just off Carnaby Street to read my book, under the looming collection of cumulonimbi gravely watching on from above, and, I suspect, trying surreptitiously to read over my shoulder.
My first ever sunless, cloud-cast park experience, and it was fairly pleasant, and cool. When the raindrops did come it took but five minutes to sidle over to Borders and finish off the last pages of Feet of Clay. And suddenly I found myself the proud new owner of the Morte trilogy.
Terry Pratchett is truly the saviour of the terminally disenchanted, and the perpetual escapists fleeing their Start Life Crises. I remember when You had your own Start Life Crisis, and all I could do was listen and make sympathetic noises. Too bad You didn't have Terry Pratchett to seize Your Funny Bone and worry relentlessly at it till you found Yourself rolling on a park bench in laughter.
Stardate 18.08.2003
******
Annual Leave, Day 1
The dark ominous clouds moved into position swiftly just after I decided to wander outdoors today. I knew I shouldn't have spoken aloud. After some faffing around I finally wandered outdoors anyway and gravitated towards Picadilly circus. Why, exactly I was unsure - perhaps because it's near the residence of a female I felt a fleeting attraction to? Or perhaps because its a stone's throw away from Borders and I was running out of Book. I consciously rejected the former (sad, when you find yourself asking yourself questions and not being really certain about the answers), and settled down in the little square just off Carnaby Street to read my book, under the looming collection of cumulonimbi gravely watching on from above, and, I suspect, trying surreptitiously to read over my shoulder.
My first ever sunless, cloud-cast park experience, and it was fairly pleasant, and cool. When the raindrops did come it took but five minutes to sidle over to Borders and finish off the last pages of Feet of Clay. And suddenly I found myself the proud new owner of the Morte trilogy.
Terry Pratchett is truly the saviour of the terminally disenchanted, and the perpetual escapists fleeing their Start Life Crises. I remember when You had your own Start Life Crisis, and all I could do was listen and make sympathetic noises. Too bad You didn't have Terry Pratchett to seize Your Funny Bone and worry relentlessly at it till you found Yourself rolling on a park bench in laughter.
