At the End of the Day

So anyway, there I was at 06:30 hrs, wide awake and ready for action. First on my to-do list was the opening chapter of the next novel. Second was the destruction of neoliberal capitalism via the medium of blogging. But just before that – briefly – it was important to clear away last night’s dishes. And put the week’s washing in the machine.

Oh, and while I was about it, persuade the new printer to talk to the old router and agree on my wifi configuration plus IP address.

And of course, open my emails to see if there was anything urgent. Like, for example, the debate with about why the camera chargers they sent me don’t work. Or the latest demand from the HMRC relating to a tax year when I was resident in France.

Immediately prior to getting that vital Chapter 1 first sentence dead right, it occurred to me that I should look at how the Shanghai Composite was doing, and then having seen it plunge again to wonder how the other markets were reacting. Chances are the blog that resulted was 95% read by those who are quite happy for neoliberal bourse bollocks to continue, and the last thing they want is its destruction.

I was just opening Microsoft Word (and fitting the Dongle into D-Drive for secure backup non-cloud saving) when I received a text to say that the satellite internet system I’d ordered was in progress and moving forward, going forward. This prompted me to walk outside and double-check there were no trees in the way of the parabola coordinates, but on doing so I remembered that the old wild rose at the back of the restored barn needed attention. So I collected clippers; gloves and a vicious Stihl saw to have at it.

Sweaty and tired an hour later, the novelist manqué glanced at his watch and saw the time was 11 am, and so it was time to zip down to the pharmacy and put in my new prescription. And, on the way, dump the rubbish in the poubelle while recycling the glass and plastic containers taking up an overcrowded corner of the kitchen.

On the way back, I stopped off in the village to buy an avocado and some bread, engage a neighbour in conversation, and frequent the butcher’s Friday stall for a morsel of weekend meat. I thought of pork, and this set me to thinking about pork swords and hogs’ mouths, so by the time I got back to the ranch a minor satire about fracking and David Cameron was half-formed. It insisted on being written and posted, so who was I to refuse?

The internet failed again as I was tagging the post, so I made a cup of hot chocolate and wandered out into the by now pleasantly warm Autumn sunshine. Hearing the pool filter switch itself on, I was reminded that the system hadn’t been backwashed or rinsed for a few days, so I attended to that. From there it was but a short walk to the lounger and the desire to, you know, just rest those weary eyes for a few minutes. It was impossible to settle, and after a few minutes I recognised the jiffly feeling as hunger.

Three slices of toast and some fig jam later, I reconnected the internet which had, as usual, sorted itself out. I posted the Cameron piss-take, and then heard the local church bells ringing out the noon toll. It was obviously time for a beer, which – let’s face it – I richly deserved.

There are few things nicer than sipping beer by the pool while watching a cloud-flecked spectacular rural view stretching all the way to the horizon, but the downside of doing this is that one notices the grass around the pool needs cutting. Forty minutes and another beer later, I was developing seriously leaden eyelids, and so retired to the hammock.

When I awoke two hours later, there was a fully-fledged Chapter 1 opening sentence in my brain, but my eyesight noticed that the Ash hedge was in severe need of re-twining and chopping. After that, I felt the need for a restoring chicken pie and more beer. These were duly prepared and consumed respectively.

Now I’m sitting here typing this, and still the novel hasn’t been started. As Margaret Thatcher knew only too well, property ownership is the biggest single obstacle on Earth in the way of revolution. Well, that and beer. And blogging.