Monday, traditionally the day of Post Sunday Red Wine Fuzzy Head, well today it hasn’t happened, a good nights sleep and just a few beers during the course of a chatty Sunday on Zoom. But I’ve started this shambles so it must go on, so thanks to Eno and Schmidt, lets see what todays Oblique Strategy is…

Change Nothing and Continue with Immaculate Consistency. 

Over the course of these last 3 years, teaching and forcing myself to write, unlearning all the old standards; smashing them up. Manipulating punctuation more than I ever have; in preaching the gospel of punctuation used as a way to add gravity or depth to the words rather than stuck together to make a face of a man smoking a pipe or a winking prostitute at the end of a vacuous statement on facebook, in the pursuit of thumbs up endorphins. In these years I feel my vocabulary has grown, but I feel my style has predominantly remained the same, but of course as I write this I’m struggling to keep to my style, I think I write best when I don’t think about it too much and so in the absence of anything profound to say, without a linguistic abberation in my head, i’m beginning to emerge blinking into the snow light of winter from the reflective domed brightness of the igloo, duller but with flashes of brilliance as the flames lick vertically from the tin can burning on the ground. 

I understand by changing nothing I really will probably trundle along at my own pace with maybe not so immaculate consistency. So I think change is the key. We’re moving house hopefully in December, but these last 2 weeks have been inwardly stressful; will the mortgage go through? And will the survey our buyers have had on our old cottage bring forth any unsurmountable nasties? We don’t know, we’ve lived here for 16 years and so we’re used to the place. People say its lovely, but theres bits we really don’t like and we’ve all talked ourselves into our new house now, there seems like no going back which has crept up on us all; merely passengers waiting with our bags on the kerb side for the next bus to take us to our next adventure.

Shit the waiting’s killing me, like the pregnant pause a TV presenter makes when he or she announces the winner or the person who has to go home, except the pause seems to be repeated for days and weeks on end as the hurdles seem less frequent but progressively higher. Good news would be great.