Yesterday, I travelled up to work. Living in the south and working 4 hours north is strange. It would be far easier and much less embarrassing to say my work is up north – it could be a minute away – north is north, afterall. People like me grew up believing Watford was in the north and no-one should venture beyond it – funny old world then. And now I live even further south, so much so in fact if I go any further it would require swimming to stay afloat. If you haven’t read Margaret Atwood’s ‘Oryx and Crake’, do so, lest I mention Mr Ballard again.
Travelling from A to B and back again (on Wednesday), reminds me of Andy Warhol, if you see a book resembling that in a charity shop get it. Anyway, I just felt colder and colder. Nothing to do with work – it’s just the flipping temperature difference.
For some annoying but thankfully undiagnosed health reason the cold gets to me and as a result I have been the subject of some ridicule when walking along the prom in my padded overcoat, while, unbelievably, there were girls sunbathing in their bikini’s. From memory it might have been during July or August. It’s ok and I got over it.
Glenn Gould really felt the cold. At least I think he did considering that he mostly wore gloves, scarf and a very thick overcoat. All while playing Bach. So even though it is embarrassing I feel in good company.
Here’s a still of me in my Mum’s coat on the beach.
It appears that I am skirting around the sticky issue. Too sticky today for my visual brain but the clues are there and it will be addressed in the future.