Weather made sitting on the hill an option and I did it. I couldn't convince anyone else to do it. Sometimes I lie down on the hill. But not if I'm on my own. I fear getting kicked into a shallow grave by liberal toddlers. This time I looked at a book and watched some hot-air balloons and tried to ignore the sentence Eel-haired Roustabouts Lament Death of Pendulum, which was mincing back and forth across my mind behind the sounds of the words in the book I was looking at, because the death of Pendulum was being gang-lamented behind me by a bunch of somebodies. I didn't inspect the haircuts of the lamenters, but applied our location and the tones of their voices and their reaction to the hot-air balloons as they passed and the general subject matter of the conversation afterwards to my prejudices, mood, ego and residual bigotry to build up a picture of what was on top of their scalps that I was too arrogant to turn round and confirm.
On the walk home I sniffed around the local front yards looking for an excellent plank I could add to my bookshelves. People leave a lot of things on the pavements round here, you could find yourself a board game or some boots or the complete works of absolutely everybody. And there's a lot of wood and when it's not the wrong length or width I pick it up and then I have a new shelf to put books on and I take it home and put books on it and watch the books being on the shelf and the shelf being underneath the books, and the dirt on the shelves that I haven't cleaned and the dust on the bricks holding up the shelves, for days, it never gets less exciting than it is.
We went to see a man use words good and he did and it was good. Loads of other people were there and we all went woo and pointed at him and he carried on being good. Everyone agreed it was agreeable. He put the words in an order that made them rhyme. I can't remember his name. We drank four thousand great ideas. Afterwards we maybe burgered ourselves senseless and the morning was full of non-negotiable tasks. The birds all had megaphones and the sun was cacophonous. I bathed in Baileys and washed my hair with black sambuca. At work nobody knew I was thinking in rhyme and cleaning tables in italics. A soggy man hollered about the great words in the play he'd just seen and yeah right. You must. You absolutely must. Total completely something. Absolute triumph. Large red wine and a lime and soda.
We went to see some very clever men sit in a line and refer to themselves. An audience of seven hundred gained no knowledge and reassessed their priorities. After fifty minutes a microphone was thrown around and some cheap coats made daft noise while the very clever men attempted how-bloody-interesting faces before boldly responding to the questions that hadn't been asked. We had paid money and booked time off work and travelled hundreds of miles. It was a plan. Afterwards we drank dark things and ruminated. The sky had been cancelled and the river came up to your balls.