Todays entry is going to be a challenge. The reason is fairly obvious in that pretty well nothing happened. Partly my own fault since I've been engrossed in one thing or another, but at least I'm doing stuff instead of simply becoming agoraphobic.

My flat is currently demonstrating that the theory of quantum mechanics is correct. I know what belongings I have, just that I cannot predict where they are at any given moment. Somewhere amongst this pile of clothes awaiting a good wash is my socks. I know I have socks. I am spectacularly well blessed with socks, except they seem to have spontaneously moved to secret locations. I have a sock here in good condition. Now my task for the next fifteen minutes is to find a matching sock to go with it.

Breakfast? No, I can't face it. The pile of yesterdays washing-up remains un-washed-up and placed in some sort of non-euclidian proof that Isaac Newton got it all completely wrong. It isn't that I've gotten into a rut, more like a deep canyon, and to be honest the hopelessly specific job adverts in this mornings paper are not helping. Still, my horoscope suggests that now is the time to move elsewhere, find fresh fields and new challenges, and looking at moribund Swindon around me, it's hard to disagree, other than the expense and sheer logistical hardships are too much to bear.

So... What's in this mornings paper?

In The Papers

In line with local policy of beautifying Swindon, the authorities have erected a water feature on the site of a former urinal emptying into the canal that once crossed the location. I strongly suspect it will sooner or later revert to its former purpose as Swindon football fans, much the worse for alcohol now they've persuaded pubs to allow them to watch games on big screen televisions once more, find themselves in need of something to empty their bladders onto. One more reason to not bother with the town centre of an evening then.

I was however stunned to discover that the Moonies have a site in a village next to Swindon, right next to a park and its ornamental lake. There was once a roman villa there, and the path of a former branch railway winds past the site. These Moonies want to create a cemetary there apparently, which I would approve of if it meant the cult was dying out. Who knows? Maybe in a few hundred years archaeologists will be digging them up for study too.

The Flash Returns

A certain young man of idle and ignorant disposition is back at the library. Presumably his noisy girlfriend has had enough and thrown him out at last, meaning he now spends all day sat staring into space. Aprt from, that is, that moment when the doors to the library open, and he immediately threads his way to the front of the queue and sprints up the staris, probably the only display of movement he's put on since the last time he persuaded his girl that sex was going to be fun.

Young people are naturally gregarious, but this youth doesn't seem to want to speak to anyone other than his favourite security guard, and then only because they speak the same lingo as it were. Well, now he's bounded up the stairs, and will spend the day on the first floor, watching the world go by. He's in a library for crying out loud. Books on every subject known to political correctness and community spirit. But he won't touch them. He justs sits there all day long waiting to find someone of a similar mindset so he can have a conversation with someone he understands.

My own ennui doesn't seem half as bad anymore.