it’s standard fashion for me to make a monthly report. Back to the Mothership, to hang with the guys for a while. I’ve not taken the dog with me before, might do this time. Fergus might not the ladder though, but if it’s dark I dare say he won’t really notice. He’ll just think we are climbing over the shed. Lot’s of news to impart this month I suppose, mainly domestic issues, the Diabetic son and all that caperage, world events- taking the knee, brexit ( as per usual) and the conflict blossoming like a fungal infection between murca trump and that demented north Korean twat. Not that I’m that bothered like. Main news for me is sourcing a new stereo, through various twisty turns of fate. Damn my addled memory, like.
Last time I was in the sitting room of the spaceship, just exchanging some banterous banter, and I was half way through rolling a fag. One of the guys was like-
HIMIN YE CANNAE BE SMOKING IN HERE, GO OUT ON TO THE BALCONY. AND PIT YER JACKET ON, IT’S FUCKING NIPPY OUT THERE
Which confused me, I just assumed I’d need some sort of space suit, it’s not like we were hovering in the Earth’s atmosphere, we were on the back-arse of the moon, right out there. Fuck it, I put me jacket on like instructed and wandered over to the door to the balcony. and, deary me – it really was nippy. A strong wind ruffled my get up as i stepped out there and sparked up a smoke. I could smell the pine needles of the trees on the back side of the moon forest park, way, way down there. i have to admit as I smoked, i got a wee bit dizzy looking down on that. plus we were sitting at a jaunty angle, that really made my head spin.
There is air in space. turns out. oh well.
Half finished, more later obviously.
I’ll just show them the sharps box, and then talk about it from that starting point. Like a kind of jaggy show and tell.
Its those first few steps that are the worst, like an invisible staircase. Well confusing min.