Bohemian Prosody

With my mother (in whose house I’m currently residing) being away with her buddies in Bridlington, I’ve been home alone all week. This freedom resulting in yours truly indulging upon a ‘debauched’ seven day existence. A time where I freely cooked meals without potatoes, along with embracing the opportunity to pursue a bohemian life without interruption.

You may think the behaviour above is the very antithesis of debauched. However, as I undertook the tasks smeared in marmite, wearing only my boxer shorts, I’d like to think these degrading episodes would register at some point on the Caligula Libertine Scale…… Incidentally, apologies if you were eating when reading this paragraph.

Seriously, though, my week hasn’t differed from the habitual fare of writing, drawing, gardening and a daily check my arse doesn’t look big in the jeans just hooked from the wardrobe. Quite amazingly, following my less than responsible calorie intake during COVID, the latter check has thus far proved negative.

Another plus, this week’s eerie silence in casa Strachan has finally made my subscription to Sky TV’s ‘Hear A Pin Drop’ channel worthwhile. Existing in the prevailing mute soundscape, I’ve felt I was living life through the eyes of a Trappist monk, minus the celibacy……. Actually, coming to think of it, you can strikethrough that minus celibacy text.

Quite bizarrely, this taciturn home environ has somehow made my concentration worse. Bereft of the constant interruptions playing out in my normal daily existence, I’m on constant alert for a disturbance, which in solitude haven’t manifested. It seems I’ve subliminally trained my psyche to expect concentration intrusions; consequently, when they don’t occur I’m completely thrown.

When I was a kid in Gateshead, I’d an acquaintance named Dougie Blunt who once advocated “Careful what you wish for…… Especially if it’s a desire to get run over by the 179 bus to Chester-Le-Street.” They were the mutterings of a madman, but in his defence he did teach me how carrier pigeons got their name; something for which I’ll always remain deeply appreciative.

On reflection, though, Dougie’s observations of needing to be careful what you wish for has this week been borne out as correct. After all, I’ve longed for complete solitude for a while now, and on it’s advent my focus on creative projects has diminished, not improved.

Incidentally, even though the chances are pretty remote now I live approximately eighty miles from the County Durham town, I’d never be stupid enough to wish to be run over by the 179 bus to Chester-le-Street…… Or, indeed, any bus!

Mater’s back tomorrow lunchtime. Consequently, this afternoon will witness me dusting, vacuuming, washing up, flossing the cutlery (don’t ask!), along with hanging up the clothes dumped on my bedroom floor.

I only hope this time yours truly remembers to remove the floor in situ clothing prior to vacuuming the bedroom carpet. Last occasion it took me thirty minutes to gain a hoodie’s liberty from the G-Tech suction pipe! Upon freeing the clothing item, I’d never witnessed a piece of clothing look so sorry for itself. I’m sure when hanging it back in the wardrobe I could hear it weeping!

Anyhow, I must dash to commence those various chores….. Have a great weekend!

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