What?!

This is crazy! For months - months, I tell you - have been unable to access this blogger thing. It wouldn't let me sign on.
Well helloooooo.......
triumphant and joyful ladida - as if, for example, the host of a radio show had been held captive in Afghanistan for 7 months and was now back on air.
So, I am listening to the Last Night of the Proms. I have SO much to tell you. Firstly, I was in India for a month very recently and I need to get all that down; I need it processed. In a crazy whatever jumble - like processed cheese rather than fully matured, perhaps, but at least it's there and I am bursting. I've stopped writing in sentences and diary and moleskine are crammed full of snippets that are pretty futile by themselves, unless they were to be displayed /as/ snippets in a glass cabinet, at least with some overall artistic direction, I don't know. I have been clumsy and kamikaze with my thoughts, which are less thoughts and more impressions. Camera-less I took to the conscious release of memories, on the basis that *letting go* is always a good thing. I'm not sure I'd advise it. The idea wasn't really to let go of everything that has ever happened to me, but to Actually Start This Time and get rid of old ideas and unfinished projects. Because what I really want to do - or need to do - is to build something out of the scraps of impression of everything that's happened to me and everything I've ever thought.

The need to create is also the need to communicate, yes? 'Create' in the sense of transferring some sort of meaning, I don't mean welding gates or whatever. How sad is art that's never received/read/audienceless. Although the artist would probably have enough imagination to keep him going.

Patriotism (different subject) - yes, I am very patriotic sometimes. I recall an evening last month when I managed to feel patriotic about India, Scotland and Great Britain. All in one evening. Yay. It was the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. Songs especially are very powerful.

Okay, enough.

I'm reading this book. It's okay. Nothing special. If you were going to write one book, you wouldn't write this one. If you were going to write on book a year, you still wouldn't write this one. Maybe if you were on number 100 and had run out of meaningful things to write about. Three girls, a couple of decades ago, not being very interesting. You know, I hate it when people in books don't speak like real people. She's actually not that bad at description. And she can craft a novel (a bland one, where all the characters are coated in a blandness - like Pat in the Scotland Street novels.Why do people like drawing young girls like this?) And the
romances are predictable and unrealistic.

Restlessness.

And did those feet, in ancient times.

I will not cease from mental strife, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.

What a literally awesome tune. "Tune".

'God save the queen' - now there's an uninspiring song.
Oh, I think it was during the national anthem that my heart swelled for the UK - although there were audible groans as we were asked to stand up.