Time to whinge again about the weather. Not because it's particularly bad, but because the weatherment told us the rain was going to lurk over britain for the next week. All those amber triangles were displayed again, warning us of biblical floods and apocalyptic storms. Well... Looking out the window of the library... What a nice day. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and I wish I'd known it was going to be like this beforehand.

So what shall I do today? The options are endless. I could wander here, stroll over there, amble anywhere. Since it's such a nice day, I probably will.

Work Gathers Pace

Yesterday I saw a crew of high-vis jackets walking toward the Old College. How about that? They're going to demolish the building the old fashioned way. No fancy explosives or heavy wrecking balls, just good old fashioned 'rip-it-apart-with-bare-hands'. There was a rash of adverts for building labourers just lately.

Across from the library the old cinema is getting a lick of white paint. No sign yet of what they plan for the premises, but they'd better keep an eye on it, because around here white paint is the perfect enviroment for grafitti mice.

Meanwhile, up in Old Town, a demolished victorian house is finally being replaced. I've seen other buildings put up in the area that were made to fit in with the olde worldy charm of brick and stone terraces, so it'll be interesting to see if this trend continues.

And just along the way from my home, the other side of the anonymous muddy alleyway, the building site there remains static, unloved, slowly surrendering to the relentless advance of trees and weeds. Sounds about right for that part of town.

Can Kids Be Quiet?

Whilst I sit here typing this stuff, a party of schoolkids have tramped up the stairs and despite the best efforts of the harrassed teacher, they sounded like a herd of cattle with squeaky voices. They've gone downstairs again, having failed to find suitable grazing land, and sure enough once on the floor below the noise of conversation erupted again.

Part of me thinks the Victorians had the right idea. Children should be seen and not heard. Give them six of the best for Breach of the Peace! Except we can't, because corporal punishment is illegal. So I guess these kids will also grow up without the slightest idea of how to behave, and in ten or twenty years they'll be vandalising what's left of my car or decorating the neighbourhood in lurid squiggles on any vertical surface.

I've just decided what I want to do today. Time to fire up the old guitar and play until my fingers bleed, or more likely, until I get bored of sitting indoors and venture out into the great unknown of Darkest Wiltshire and lap up some ultraviolet. All I need to do is find a quiet spot.