pointless and beautiful
I close my eyes and see inside my head,
The memory of your face…
A little world I know…
Starts sending images of the home I once had,
Of encounters, Of moments, I was part of.
If the world is to everyone,
What each one sees,
What then it’s definition?
I dreamed I was writing a newspaper article. I was fighting with the wording of it. I was in a study but the room wasn’t mine. Object repetition in dreams is strange. An old friend of mine, Angus, used to always dream of a blue bong. It would always be there somewhere in the background of his dreams. For me also there are objects that turn up over and over again and which in some way are meaningful. A dark green standard desk lamp. Frosted glass with gold and black lettering. Sepia tones. Black coffee. A bright spotlight and darkened room. ‘H’ pencils in a jar. Blue-grey smoke from a cigarette in a green glass ashtray. …and thus this room that I find myself in is familiar, and yet unfamiliar at the same time.
Upon awaking I remembered the whole article that I had written and I felt pleased, because I knew it was the way I wished it to be, and it was finished. …The memory of the dream rapidly faded and now although I remember the intentions I had in writing the piece, the precise wording, that I had felt so pleased with, has gone completely, faded back into that dream world without me, as dreams are want to do. I can still see the title of my carefully crafted article:
The idea of a conspiracy: memes of greed
Maybe I’ll actually write it one day, and maybe I won’t. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. I am reluctant to attempt to think further of writing down what I do remember of it. Already I am left with that feeling that anyone who has ever lost their work and yet been forced to attempt to re-write it from memory will be only too familiar with. The words are perhaps the same, but things are phrased not quite as they were before. Sentences do not gel together as they did in the original, and maybe, maybe it’s okay. However because it is discordant with what I remember of the original it sounds cacophonous as I speak the words in my head. It is an uncomfotable feeling.
I had my Sixth lesson today, and I think I like it best as it was today, when I have only one day inbetween my two weekly lessons. I had had to start the car with a hill start, and then it was back to the side streets for more cornering practice. I managed to slow it down a little and I think I dramatically improved the timing of my gear changes. Stalled a few times still and so got a bit frustrated. I understand how to drive, intellectually, but the body is taking a little longer to catch-up. As well as practicing getting around corners I also got to stretch my wheels by driving up to campus where I encountered my first mini roundabout.
It was good to get onto a straight road after all those corners and I got my trusty Renault Clio up to 50mph for the first time, sailing through gears happily and smoothly. On the way I got to negotiate my first stopped traffic lights which was relatively simple, although it was a strange feeling to be in stationary traffic and not be a passenger. I was sort of tempted to stare about, but knew I still had to keep my eyes on the road.
Once on campus as I already said I encountered my first mini roundabout, which was fairly obvious …and of course I got even more practice at driving carefully at low speeds.
I could learn to really hate speed bumps. I got to drive myself home for the first time today!
Despite the fact that I was looking forward to today’s lesson… I found my fourth driving lesson a little unsettling. Having a lesson the very next day after the previous one I didn’t have time to think about what I had and hadn’t achieved yesterday, to mentally go through it. …as a result I felt as though it hadn’t really sunk in as much.
Due to the fact that I had expressed suprise to Stuart at the change of location and the necessary change in driving style, he had decided to try and get me to practice cornering back off on the country roads so we could get in a bit of distance too. …and of course I’d got it into my head that because of what we did yesterday we would be again on the small roads practicing T junctions. So I was even more confused than normal.
At some point last summer, Kathryn and I, on one of our attempts at fresh air and an uncomputer oriented environment, ventured to Silverdale for a walk and an explore. Having had an enjoyable walk along the beach we cut back to the village along a path and through a field. A field with some lazily grazing cows in it. We were delighted to spot a cow that was completely black from nose to hoof, apart from a white circle all the way around its back and belly. We named it “Polo Cow”, and having giggled and marvelled at it for a time, we wended our way back to the car. I confess that I neglect to mention a slight foray to the pub on the way to the car, as this was back in the days when I still drank, but that is aside from the point.
On the bank holiday Saturday just gone we escaped Lancaster again to enjoy the sunshine! We went for a walk up and around Arnside knot, watched hot air balloons and a train crossing the bay and managed time for a quick coke in the Woodlands pub in Silverdale on the way home in the evening. As we were driving along Kathryn spotted a whole field of cows like “Polo Cow” and we began to suspect that it was in fact another breed of cow, and not your average everyday Fresian as we had assumed. Kathryn has just now discovered on-line that they are called “Galloway Belted” which is a pretty good description! I’ve included a picture for your entertainment, and to ensure that you can recognise one should you need to!
Galloway Belted also known as ‘Polo Cow’ and a Friesian for comparison.