it's a rainy gray morning (but to be fair at least it's not bucketing it down).
horsemouth reclines on the sofa. he has a cup of coffee (cafetiere coffee granted but still). all is not quite good with the world but still it is an improvement. last night horsemouth cured a dose of gringe with a bottle of beer and a phone call from his mum. horsemouth will check some emails - he has been accused of being rude.
horsemouth faces the problem of global investment capital - low returns. interest rates on savings accounts are now typically of the order of 0.1% - so for every £1000 you could invest for a year you would get a quid surplus (after fees). so you put your money into something higher risk and before you know it you are on the wild ride of global stockmarket booms and crashes.
it makes it difficult to be a low rent bloated capitalist or even a humble trustafarian leisure worker.
horsemouth is (truth be told) a little bored (and anxious also). he is departing the world of the job and the employer for the choppy seas of freelance employment (or he will do once he's got his insurance together er, maybe). his mum seems most reluctant to tell people about his redundancy, she feels the shame of unemployment. horsemouth just liked the look of the money all in one go without having to work for it (that's how much of a short-termist he is).
last night horsemouth watched a little of the music of jack bruce. he used to own some of the solo albums (record and tape in camden downstairs mostly) but one day (nearly 25 years ago) as he was moving out of his old flat the door blew shut closed behind him with half his record collection still inside (and he thought - you know what - fuck it). he had bought into the notion that all the blues-rock and prog he owned was worthless.
horsemouth is a hoarder yes. but he's also a collector (he likes the thrill of the chase). he has brought some underutilised books with him in the hope that having been talked up by susan sontag horsemouth will develop the willpower to read them (or read them again).
the flat where he is staying looks out onto the canal from the kitchen window (tales from the riverbank). the joggers jog past. the beautiful girls, the good looking couples, the boaters go about their al fresco and very public lives, cyclists. at the front of the flat there are bird feeders wrongly sized for the parakeets who attempt to upend them in frustration, it is a pleasure having a tv again (but there is nothing on). horsemouth watches the news.
today he was going to go up the bank (but it's raining and, given the low interest rates, what's the point). tomorrow a handover.
and thereafter the weather should start to improve.
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