last night horsemouth dreamt, having watched a film where the improbably active sean connery gets the improbably dark and lovely catherine zeta-jones. it was a caper movie, and we all know that the caper will bring them together. but sean is playing an an old, cold and cautious man, he has his doubts.
the millenium bug based banking fraud is just a mcguffin (as they say) to bring them together. and so with the beautiful logic of films it does.
later that night (or possibly early next morning) horsemouth dreamt his own caper movie.
it was set in an old english village/ modern distribution depot. the object of his affections was grumpy to be up so early (as the alighted from the train). with horsemouth in knowledgeable guide mode they went off in search of coffee and breakfast. horsemouth then went off scouting but when he was returned was distressed to find the object of his affections snoozing in a corner.
later (or maybe she had become someone else by this point) she was wandering around hand in hand with a love rival. horsemouth pretended interest in the surroundings for a while and then claimed to have received a text about a domestic emergency.
and so to wakefulness.
yesterday horsemouth walked over via a poorly planned route (he ended up doubling back on himself at one point, arriving at a road he had already crossed). so it took slightly more than the allotted hour, all to save 1.60 in busfare he thought (as the buses thundered past and he trudged wearily on).
today more wandering about alibied by the task of buying second hand books/ visiting book boxes. he will almost certainly try the salvation army first (source of two recent guitar cases). he will wander out to check on the allotment (not that anything needs doing up there - just that he lies being there). at one point it had a solid gate, one approached through the forest, arrived at the forbidding door, opened it with the key and revealed the clear skies and geometrically laid out open spaces beyond (it was like something out of alice in wonderland).
he has brought jonas mekas' lettres de nulle part (letters from nowhere) to read (having found it in a book box on colenso road). .
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