I Can’t Feel My Toes

It’s been a strange sort of week. I’m just beginning to wind down - looking forward to a fairly quiet weekend ahead. Of course I know a “fairly quiet weekend” won’t happen. There are already rumblings about another trip to the dump. The rubbish dump has become our “go to” day-out throughout lockdown. We lead such an exciting life.

I’m listening to some sort of “background jazz” playlist on Spotify. I can’t quite decide if I’m in an episode of Ally McBeal, or a melancholy scene from a late 80s brat-pack movie.

I wish there was more interesting or exciting news to share. For the last year my life has revolved almost entirely around this chair, this desk, this computer, little else. I’ll spare you the horrors of the slippers I bought after Christmas, that caused the most impressive case of athlete’s foot ever seen by the human eye. I’m guessing slippers were never designed to be worn 18 hours a day, every day while schlepping around the house.

Over the last few evenings I have started reading “Ready Player Two”. I’m about a hundred pages in, and still wondering when the story will start. So far all that has happened is Wade has waxed lyrical about some new technology, and lost his girlfriend.

(four hours pass)

I’m just trying to piece together what happened in the last four hours. In no particular order - my other half got home from work, I managed to wreck my middle daughter’s computer, we had dinner, we stood in the garden with the telescopes until I could no longer feel my toes, and now I’m sitting in the junk room, playing “pretend aeroplanes” again.

Our youngest daughter is doing a school project on space, and the school have given us a computer controlled telescope on long-term loan. After decades using a telescope on an equatorial mount that I mostly aim into the heavens like a gun, the school telescope is like a breath of fresh air - you enter into a small display what you would like to see (e.g. “Mars”), and it gently whirs away, and rotates to point at what you tell it. I think it’s cheating. There’s value in finding your way around the sky, and struggling with a hulking mass of clutches, knobs, and dials.

Anyway. I better go. My pretend aeroplane won’t land itself.I’m flying an Airbus from Berlin to Amsterdam - mostly to make sure I file more hours than my Dad (he’s responsible for the aviation bug, so this is retribution). He will win in the end of course - he’s retired. He can spend all day playing pretend aeroplanes. I have to work, do chores, and pretend to be civil to people.